Asleep in the Spider's Web
by purplebeards
Summary: A series of petty crimes turned sinister leave the people of Whitechapel in even more doubt of H-Division's capability to protect them. Reid suspects these crimes share a deeper, unidentified root. The Vigilance Committee is again at his heels, but George Lusk's involvement and the development of events in his own life mean he may soon ease off the men in uniform...
1. Chapter 1

It was warm out today; stuffy, even. The shop door was propped open and a few windows were even left agape to allow a breeze in, but Lavinia still stood behind her counter feeling uncomfortably hot. She feared unsightly signs of sweat, and was fanning her face and neck with a wad of paper. As usual, business was slow in jewellery shops this early in the day and she was doing her best to stay entertained without a newspaper to leaf through.

She was not alerted to the presence of a customer until they closed the door behind her, triggering the little bell above the frame. She wanted to ask them to leave the door open but supposed it would be easier to wait until they were done here.

"Hello sir, how can I help?" Lavinia smiled, standing tall with her hands neatly at the counter in front of her.

"You can start by holding your hands up and moving into that there back room, love." The man grunted, clumsily pulling a gun from his jacket and aiming it at her head. The girl blinked and quickly lifted her hands, walking backwards into the side room where small repairs were made, heels clacking on the wooden floor. The bell sounded and heavier footsteps seemed to rumble around the shop floor. She caught a glance of the men before being pushed further into the side room by the fellow wielding a weapon.

Well, no one could say they expected to be robbed, but Lavinia was still taken aback. How in God's name would she explain this to her father? He'd be worried for her, probably, but at the same time he'd be furious that they'd lose money. She couldn't help but think volunteering to work the shop alone today would be a source of blame.

"Where is the safe?" the man demanded, waving his gun around before training it on her forehead.

"In the back room." Lavinia yielded a reply, nodding her head to the doorway behind her. She was grabbed by the arm and pushed towards the door, which she opened reluctantly. The safe was full of money and items that needed to be taken for appraisal or restoration somewhere else. There was more in that safe than there was on the shop floor, in terms of monetary worth.

"Open it. "

"I can't, I don't know the code." She lied. "Just take what you want from the shop and go."

"We want what's in the safe! Don't say you don't know, because I got a fella who says he saw you put something in it last week. You work here, so you got access to the safe. Now open it!" the gun was butted against her head and Lavinia teetered back a bit. Her eyes were stinging and watering and she could just imagine the fury her father would be spewing. They'd be ruined before they'd even had a chance to set the business up properly. The man seemed clumsy with his weapon and she hoped he might not actually know how to use it. Maybe they'd just give up...

"I won't."

"What did you say?" the man hissed, glass smashing out in the main floor behind him. Several men came in with arms full of bags, impatient to see what the larger haul was.

"I said I won't. You can go try your luck at a bank or another shop. I won't open it."

"Yes you will." He snarled now, and Lavinia was struck along the jaw by something hard – it could have been the gun or his fist, she did not see. She stumbled back and held her jaw, the pain worst in her cheek bone just below the eye.

"I _won't open it_." She insisted, panting. This time she could see it was a fist, and it collided with her stomach with such force that, even with her corset, Lavinia found herself bent over his arm, gripping onto the material of his coat as her vision blurred for a moment. The pain dulled and spread out through her abdomen slowly and she let go. "I won't!" she screamed now, still winded. The man grabbed her by the hair and lifted her head up, pausing for a moment before shoving her aside instead of doing worse.

"Then I'll open it myself." His gun moved down to the thick metal box.

"It's brand new, state of the art; guns can't break it open." Lavinia could feel the skin under her eye burning with the damage, and she was thankful none of her teeth had taken the brunt. He grabbed her again by the wrist this time and stood her in front of the safe.

"Fine! We'll take what we can from the shop floor and I'll paint the walls of the room with your brains. If you think your life is worth less than whatever is in that there box."

The other men lost colour in their face, and it seemed to Lavinia that none of them were planning on killing her.

"Go ahead." Her voice cracked, but Lavinia felt a painfully strong flow of energy that gave her the will to stand her ground. The man stepped back, arm shaking with rage. There was a click, and Lavinia closed her eyes the instant that she heard a bang, fists clenched tight.

"Jesus, what did you go and do that for?!" one of the men bellowed from behind, watching the woman stumble back and land against the safe with a heavy thud. She slid down further, slumped against the steel box with her head tipped to her chest.

"She- she wouldn't-"

"You idiot! Quick, grab what you can and let's get out of here sharp." Another one shoved his weapon-wielding friend before turning to race back out to the shop floor. The otherss followed him but as they skidded out from the back room, they found the doorway of the little shop blocked by men, their affiliation noticeable immediately by the blue strips wrapped around their left biceps.

"Morning, fellas." George Lusk sneered, taking a cigarette from his mouth as his eyes met the startled face of the gunman, who dropped his weapon and mouthed a curse under his breath. Some of the would-be thieves tried to bolt back into the other room in the hopes of finding a back door they could escape through, but Lusk and his vigilance committee were faster and stronger in numbers, as always.

Lusk was the first one to find her, as the other men in his company were busy chasing her killers. Slumped down against an unopened safe, her dress not yet stained with blood from wherever she'd been fatally injured. Perhaps they had killed her before the gunshot went off – there was a dent in the safe and her face was marked from a strike. She didn't even look to be in her twenties, and was so slender he thought it must not have been hard to kill the fragile little thing. Stooping down, he brushed some hair from her face and waited a moment to see if she woke. Through his gloves he could feel nothing in her neck, and she grew increasingly pale in the minute or two that he watched her. With a huff, Lusk scooped her up with both arms, shuffling a bit to get a good grip (just because she was dead didn't mean it would be acceptable to drop her). Reluctantly, he told those waiting with the captured thieves, "We should take them to the police station. Her too."

"She dead?" one man asked, eyebrows furrowed as he restrained one of their detained criminals. Lusk nodded, tipping the woman's head forward against her chest so she did not slump back with her mouth forced agape. The crowd grumbled and the restraint on these men became a damn sight rougher as they were dragged down to Leman street.


	2. Chapter 2

Jackson wanted to bellow and scream for whoever was banging at his door to stop. Hell, he wanted to get up, tear the door open and grab them by the collar and ask what the hell they were doing waking him up at this hour. Two things were stopping that from happening, though. One; his hangover, which caused each bang at the door to drain more of the little energy he had and two; the fact that it was actually past ten am, a time that many thought to be late in the morning rather than early. He didn't really have much of an excuse behind that.

"I'm coming, I'm getting up just hold your damn horses!" he managed to respond, standing and scratching his bare chest as he squinted through the dim light of the room. He found a shirt and shrugged it on, content that he was wearing enough below the waist to allow stepping outside. He opened the door to a very unwelcoming sight – the grumpy bulldog-esque features of Sergeant Drake.

"You are late for work." He said calmly, one eyebrow raised in that usual disapproving look. No one else seemed to think it, but Drake was incredibly pompous in the American's eyes.

"I wasn't aware I was due to clock in. We're not all at the doors by sun-up like you, Sergeant. Some of us have other things in our lives to take care of."

"Like getting blind-stinking drunk and bedding a whore?"

"Jesus Drake, what's up your ass? Trouble at home with the missus?"

Drake didn't dignify the other with a reply, and Jackson didn't bother denying the accusation of whoring (indeed, Jackson hadn't bedded a woman other than his wife in some time now), shrugging a jacket on and grinding his teeth as Drake walked down the hallway of Tenter Street, expecting Jackson to follow like some obedient puppy. He kept enough distance to frustrate the stiff-upper-lipped Englishman just enough as they made their way to the station.

When they arrived, Drake seemed insistent that the American even sign in at the front desk, Artherton's usual straight face staring back at him over the counter. There were times when Jackson wondered if he'd ever been forgiven for that intoxicated rant where he'd pointed a gun at the heavily bearded Sergeant.

"Where's Reid?" he asked Drake as he replaced the pen.

"In his office-"

Whatever remark was about to escape Drake, it was interrupted by the sound of the station doors opening. Several men rushed in, and the Sergeant tensed immediately with a hand at his hip where his baton rested. It was not unheard of for troublemakers to storm police stations, and he was not comforted by the sight of blue arm-bands on these men.

"As usual, you fellows are so late to the beat that someone could literally have gotten away with murder this day." Lusk's smug drawl came through the crowd, and in front of him several men were restrained and struggling. Someone had already run to fetch the inspector and Reid came storming down the staircase ready to know why the Vigilance committee had entered his station. "Normally I wouldn't be handing anyone over to you, but as we do not yet have our own foreign surgeon, I think you are better equipped." Lusk stepped forward through the crowd, holding in his arms the slumped body of a young woman, dressed in green and pale as death. "This woman was killed by these men, who were attempting to rob her." Lusk snarled, and as Reid opened his mouth to speak the chairman interrupted him. "It's bad enough the police did little to prevent the deaths of unfortunates roaming the streets at night, but now an innocent young woman earning an honest living _in broad daylight_ cannot feel safe. Where are your men when these sort of things happen?!" if his hands were free, Lusk would have pointed accusingly at the Inspector. There was a silence as the weight of the chairman's words settled in, his upper lip curled slightly. "Soon no one will be safe in Whitechapel and your drunken fools in uniform will have had everything to do with letting us go to hell."

"I wish you had not moved her body but that cannot be undone. Will you be giving us these accused men also?" Reid eyed Lusk with as neutral an expression as possible, deliberately avoiding the leading questions.

"It depends on how capable you are of exacting justice upon them. We all know the mess you made handling that Gower boy."

"Did you see this crime occur?" The Inspector ignored the jabs once more and continued questioning, stepping aside as a stretcher was brought out to take the woman's body into the dead room.

"We heard the gunshot as we entered the building, heard the men arguing over the suitability of their crime and then they ran right into us. Still had the gun in his hand, this one." As he was relieved of the body, Lusk pointed a hand towards the gunman, who now quivered and shook at the prospect of his punishment.

"Hand them over, Lusk, and we will see that suitable justice is exacted."

"I expect to see them receive their sentence sooner rather than later." Lusk snapped like a rabid little dog, grabbing one of the men by his bound wrists and shoving him forward. One by one, the suspected criminals were dragged off to cells while Reid and Drake reluctantly organised statements from Lusk and his men, as they were technically witnesses. When they left the gang in the hands of Artherton and a slew of constables, they moved immediately to the dead room. Drake had not yet mentioned it, but he saw little blood about the body of a woman supposedly shot.


	3. Chapter 3

**A big thanks to AnotherKim for your reviews to my various work including this one, I hope the story grows to meet your expectations!**

* * *

When the two men entered the dead room, Drake had to do his best not to grimace. He was, in truth, disturbed by the sight of any dead body since the war, and he routinely felt his upper lip curl when he walked in here. He had no doubt that the inspector felt the same, but he was clearly better at hiding it.

On the table lay the pale, stripped body of the young woman brought in. Her stomach was caved in, feet turned inwards and head sitting remarkably straight where it was posed against the block beneath. Her hair was still up in a neat bun, mousy blonde with a few loose strands that had probably been intended to help soften a strong, not entirely feminine jaw.

"Well?" Reid expected his surgeon to explain the case immediately, eyes focused on the other man rather than the naked body in front of him.

"Well...she's dead. But there's no way she was shot. I've checked everywhere – _everywhere. _There's no wound. All I can find is the cut on the cheek and this on her stomach, but it started bruising which means it happened before death, couldn't be the main cause."

"But a gunshot was heard, every man out there corroborates that."

"Gun could have gone off, but that doesn't mean it struck her. Her heart could have given out, for all we know." Jackson shrugged, holding a cigarette in his hand as usual. Reid finally gave the body a full look, and something stood out on the pale white skin of the corpse. A small, purple blotch, a few inches below her left breast. Below it was the fresher mark from where she had been punched.

"What about this? A bruise could not have killed her but,"

"I checked, the bruise is days old and there's no broken rib or signs of internal bleeding under there. There is a lump under, though. A cyst or something, maybe.."

"If this woman was not killed by a gunshot then we must deduce how else she perished as a gun went off. Think, Jackson, is there no sign about here that indicates a cause?"

"Heart attack is my bet. I'll open her up and see what the condition of the organ is."

"Wait," Jackson and Reid turned around to see Drake pointing a finger at the woman's torso, his lips pursed before he spoke again. "The lump. Could it not be a cancer? I've known of people to drop dead from cancers. Their bodies become ill from it and they give out."

"She'd be in a pretty terrible condition if a cancer was about to kill her. I can't be sure unless I open her up and check the state of the rest of her body. Plus, it's tiny, hard and smooth. All the cancers I've seen are softer, way more organic feeling." Jackson tapped his finger against the small lump under the woman's skin, feeling how solid and unrelenting the object underneath was. He paused for a moment, eyes narrowing before he leaned in closer. "In fact, I've not encountered anything inside the body that hard, except bone. And it's too smooth to be a protruding rib." He mused, pointing a hand out to a tray nearby. "Drake, pass me a scalpel."

Not a fan of being ordered around, Drake looked his usual unimpressed self as he retrieved the whole tray and placed it roughly down in front of the surgeon, who picked his tool and pulled the skin taught to make an incision just below the lump. The knife slipped into the skin and light, watery blood seeped out.

"Shit, I must have pierced it." Jackson muttered, opening the slit wide enough to try and 'pop' the thing out. A very much organic white ball detached from the fat and muscle from which is grew and slid into his fingers, un-pierced and entirely benign. "Looks like it calcified, whatever it was. The body attacks things that shouldn't be there and literally turns them to stone."

"If its stone; calcified,." Drake pointed out, looking at the little hard lump as the American dropped it onto the tray. "Then where did the blood come from?"

"She's not that long dead-" Jackson sounded like he was about to go off on a rant about how they should trust him as a medical professional, but he was silenced when he looked back at the body and saw the sheer amount of blood that was not just seeping from the wound now but _pumping_. Weakly, albeit, but it was coming out in a regular pulse. "Shit...check for a pulse on the wrist." He ordered the Sergeant while he quickly pressed a hand to her neck, searching for a pulse. Drake shook his head and Jackson furrowed his brow in concern when he found no hint of a heartbeat either.

"Let's tip her on her side, see if it drains. I could have pierced another cyst or something deeper down." Jackson mumbled, stubbing out his cigarette and walking around to the other side of the body.

"Never known you to admit to making a mistake." Drake jabbed, taking the girl by the shoulder furthest away from him. Jackson ignored the remark and put his hands under the body, pushing up so she tipped towards Drake. Reid watched from a safe distance, and Drake wished for once it wasn't _his_ clean clothes at risk of being stained with blood. He looked at the woman's face, which remained pale and stiff as death. Her lips (which were thicker and stuck in more of a pout than he'd seen on any Englishwoman before) were parted and Saliva appeared to drip from between them. Curiously Drake placed a finger over her eyelid, knowing it to be an area where skin was its thinnest. He froze in reaction to the touch.

"Jackson...she's warm."

"And this blood is still pumping. There's no way this girl dead."

"Didn't you check for a pulse?!" Reid was closer again, sounding furious. "You found nothing, both of you just now!"

"She wasn't breathing and there was no heartbeat. I can't find one now." Jackson had a finger against her neck again, searching desperately for a something to indicate life. The muscles beneath his finger tensed this time but before he could react, the woman seemed to roll over away from him in a frantic seizure, clawing out as a hoarse shriek left her mouth. She seemed in pain and tried to sit up, kicking and grabbing at the table in what must have been fear. Drake jumped back, narrowly missing having his tie grabbed by a bleeding and (not so dead) woman. She looked to roll off the table entirely though, and instinct drove him to move forward again to try and catch her. He missed, though, and some fearful instinct made her faster than him. She was on the floor with a sharp thud and quickly up against a wall, crying and throwing an arm across her bare chest. The blood from her incision was now dripping fast down her legs and threatening to create a slippery puddle at her feet. Jackson had raced around the table and managed to get a hold of her shoulders, her legs giving way as he pushed her to sit.

"Calm down, calm down." He hushed as the girl began hyperventilating. She probably thought they were the same men who'd attacked her.

"Get away from me!" she shrieked trying to push the American away despite the urge to cover her shame. Drake appeared with a sheet and draped it over her shoulders, helping Jackson to pull it around her front to cover her up. The Sergeant was the one to shush her now, holding her face in the same way a man might with his distressed child.

"We're police officers, you're safe." He tried to say, but still she cried.

"Get her back up on the slab, you need to sew up that incision." Reid commanded, and Drake tried to lift the girl by her arms. She refused (understandably so), shaking her head and crying harder as she shuffled further back against the wall. Drake tried again but it was difficult with the sheet around her and the blood under his shoes. Reid's upper lip curled and his eyes turned to the girl this time.

"Get up! Do you want to bleed to death? Get up!" his voice turned to a bellow and it was Jackson's voice, a fraction louder, that stopped his superior from going further.

"_Reid!_ Look at her." The surgeon implored with a huff, his hair askew, and it was Drake who explained further.

"She's terrified, sir. Shouting won't do her any good."

"Get her up onto that slab as fast as you can." The Inspector snapped, marching from the room. The other men already had an idea of where he was headed.

"Where am I?" the girl asked, eyes staring forward as one of these strange men held her tight by the shoulders. Her backside was cold against the floor beneath her and she could feel hot, sticky blood dripping down her torso onto the floor beneath her.

"You're at H-division police station on Leman street, Whitechapel. You were brought here from your shop on Commercial Street. Can you tell me your name?" Jackson crouched, having lit up a new cigarette before speaking to the girl. Her green eyes met his darker ones, and he held her gaze. She was an adult woman, but right now she reminded him of a terrified child lost in the streets - the eye contact of a calm adult would hypnotise them.

"Lavinia, Lavinia Mountford. Why am I-" She looked down to her silhouette beneath the sheet, horrified. "I'm bleeding."

"It's okay, it's okay, it was just a little incision. If you hold still I can sew you back up. But you need to stay still, okay?" Jackson pointed to the slab behind them, which was unfortunately visibly bloodied from the surgery. "You probably tore it when you woke up, so it's bleeding quite a bit. Can you stand up?"

"You're the police?" she mumbled, looking up at Drake. He was a little embarrassed, as she probably thought him to look closer to a criminal than a law enforcer.

"He is, and I'm employed by the police, medically trained. We need you to stand now."

Outside, Reid had already stormed into the room where vigilance men were giving their statements. Lusk still remained of course, and turned to meet the Inspector as he barged in, bellowing the chairman's name. The hint of a smirk on his lips soon faded when Reid grabbed him by that fancy coat of his and dragged him back with him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" the blonde man bellowed in return, making sure it was seen and known by everyone that he was being manhandled by the police.

"You come with me right this instant, Lusk." Was the only reply Reid gave, unrelenting in his grip as he forced the man across the hallway to the mortuary. When they arrived, Lusk was thrown forward into the room, stumbling before steadying himself and looking at the young woman on the floor.

"You claim to bring me a dead girl yet there she sits breathe and living just as you and I. Explain yourself, Lusk." Edmund snarled now. He was sure this was some ploy of Lusk's to discredit the police – poison a woman (or pay her to play a part) to make it appear that the vigilance men had foiled a crime rather than the police.

Lusk was, however, frozen and staring at the girl. She had a mortuary sheet wrapped around her but her shoulders and collarbones were exposed, covered in more bruises than he expected. The bottom of the sheet was soaking up blood, and she was clearly crying. The Sergeant was trying to help the girl stand and the full extent of her bleeding – from the abdomen – was exposed.

"My God, you don't mean to say I had something to do with this?!" Lusk spat as he turned to face Reid. "She didn't breathe and there was no beating in 'er neck. She was dead."

"I accuse you of nothing, but rather I wonder how it came to be that a woman who appeared dead just half an hour ago, awoke screaming on the slab of my mortuary. The death of a young shop-keeping girl seems very convenient for you, Lusk, to begin another verbal assault on the work I and my men do."

"If you're suggesting I fabricated a situation for those causes you're as much of a fool as I take you for. I don't need excuses to criticise the fools you have running around in uniforms. The girl seemed dead when I found her, she had no pulse, didn't breath and there had been a gunshot in that room. I said in my statement I noticed no blood and thought she may have been killed another way. If she really is returned from the dead then it's a miracle, not something to shift the blame of onto someone else. You want to perhaps send her away knowing that the next time the police help her it won't be when she's delivered to them dead." Lusk gripped his beating stick hard and barged past the Inspector, muttering under his breath. Jackson and Drake had succeeded in getting Miss Mountford to stand and she stared at the doorway where Reid remained, huffing with the effort to not chase after Lusk.

"Get her sewn and cleaned up as fast as you can, Jackson." was all he said, turning swiftly and leaving the dead room.


	4. Chapter 4

The cells at Leman Street were, as with many other stations, the least cleaned part of the building. While floors were swept and spillages wiped up in the offices and reception hall, the cells were generally only cleaned by a constable or sergeant who found the mess too much to handle while on duty. Most men had strong enough stomachs for most bodily fluids, comforted by the knowledge that those incarcerated had to deal with it for a lot longer.

Now, when you added in a few fresh men pissing themselves (at the very least) with fear, you had yourself a rather vile place to be in, and that was exactly where Tobias and his mates were stuck now. Well, they probably weren't his mates now. They'd blame him for shooting the gun and alerting people, thus getting them imprisoned.

"I don't believe this, Toby. You just had to lose your temper. I said we shouldn't give you the gun!" one of his fellow snarled from a separate cell, nursing cut wrists from his restraints. "We could've just taken things from the shop floor and gotten away scot free again!"

"We wouldn't have had enough for the boss, though." Tobias protested, his wrists still bound.

"We'd have found it somewhere else. Better than getting arrested. We'll spend the rest of our lives in some dank prison, we'll never see coin or freedom again thanks t'you."

"Well, I'm sorry."

"Gentlemen." The voice of Inspector Reid bounced off stone walls, leaving all six men to turn their heads to the doorway. "You men have come out of this far poorer than expected, I think." He said, drifting in front of the cells and catching most of the men's attention specifically. "I don't suppose you expected to be arrested for murder at the end of it."

"We never had anything to do with him shootin' her!" one man shouted, pointing to the gunman. "It was all Toby, we ain't accessories if we didn't know he was goin' to do it!"

"You knew he had a gun, did you not?"

"Well, yer...but only to threaten her."

"Then you know it was possible he could discharge the weapon. You are all accessories to murder and will be tried as such." Reid couldn't actually confirm that until the investigation went further, but they didn't need to know that. The threat of a severe punishment could tease evidence from the mouths of many a man.

There was a mess of shouting from the group now – all except the gunman, at least. Reid approached his cell and peered through, hands behind his back.

"You seem awfully quiet for the one accused of the most severe crime.""I killed 'er, didn't I? Nothing to argue about there." The man shrugged, staring at the floor.

"You'll hang, you know that don't you?"

"Yer, I know."

"Is that something you _want_?"

"No one wants to hang, but if I deserve it, then I deserve it. Only wanted some money..." the man began grumbling to himself, kicking the ground.

"Tell me, were you men simply after financing yourselves or were you sent by someone else to do the robbing? This 'boss' I heard while standing in the hallway, perhaps."

"That ain't none of your business." One man snapped, eying Tobias viciously.

"I will take that as a 'yes'. You there," Reid focused on Tobias again "if there is information we do not yet know and you tell us, I might see fit to push leniency in your sentence." his eyes bored into the gunman, waiting for him to look up and make eye contact. There was a tense pause where no man in the room spoke, before the gunman finally stood and faced the Inspector.

"We do what we're told an' he pays us."

"So someone employed you to rob this particular shop?"

"Yes."

"Shut up!" someone roared, kicking at the metal wall of their cell. Reid did not flinch, still waiting for the man to speak further.

"Can't...can't I go into another room an' tell you this?"

"No, you will speak here." There was a chance the others would reveal something if the game was given up, Reid hoped.

"Well, he pays us a set amount as long as we get enough stuff."

"You have robbed for pay before?"

"A few times."

"For who?"

"Well that I don't know, sir." The gunman shrugged, seeming genuine. "We just get delivered the information an' what the boss wants, he give it to someone after the fact an' then they give us the pay."

"Tell me where you've robbed before."

"Well that ain't gonna give me leniency, is it? You'll charge me for all the other robberies and I'll get the gallows anyway. I'll tell you more if I get to speak in another room, and don't get put in with them lot." He motioned to the other men in their cell.

The man was smart; too smart to be in this situation, Reid thought. He didn't say another word, turning to leave as the other men erupted into a tirade against the snitch of their group.

As he made his way back out into the reception hallway, a man and woman were at the desk haranguing Artherton who was not sure if he should tell them what he believed. Luckily Reid caught his eye and he beckoned his superior over.

"Inspector, this is Mr. and Mrs. Mountford, owners of Harpur Jewellers. They believe it to be their daughter who was brought in." the bearded sergeant said grimly, avoiding the mention of a body. Thank God, Reid thought. They did not need a mother in hysterics over a murder that had not actually happened.

"Good day, I am Detective Inspector Reid, and I assure you we are looking into this robbery and attack with a fine tooth comb. If you would like to follow me, I will take you to your daughter now. She is mostly uninjured but our surgeon is attending to her."

"Surgeon?!" the woman bleated, holding onto her husband's arm.

"A minor cut, Ma'am. A day or two of bedrest will see your daughter back to her old self."

Finding Miss Mountford still covered up by the sheet in the dead room, Reid quickly encouraged her parents to wait in an office nearby while he hurried Jackson. The girl was then allowed the privacy to dress alone while Drake guarded the door. Jackson, meanwhile, was the next to be harangued.

"I have good reason to believe this was an orchestrated robbery. The men were paid to rob shops before. Have you any thoughts as to the girl's condition?"

"I don't think she was poisoned or anything. My best guess is that she was shocked into a sort of coma. Her whole body just couldn't take the stress and it shut down. She seems weak but otherwise pretty normal now."

"Then I implore you to tell her parents that as sensitively as you can. They will not be calmed easily."

"Aye aye, Captain." Jackson gave his employer a salute and marched off into the office with Reid behind him.

Just a few minutes later, Drake found the door to the mortuary opening and a remarkably well kept Miss Mountford emerged, her hair pinned back and dress smoothed out. There was a speck of blood on her cheek, which he motioned to silently so she could wipe it off. Trying with her sleeve, he noticed another on her forehead.

"Um, up there too." He pointed to his own forehead, but stopped when it looked as if she might cry. Quickly, Drake pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat and wiped the speck from her forehead before handing her the cloth to keep should the tears overflow. "Your parents are here to bring you home."

"Thank you." She muttered, following him down the hallway and into the office where Mrs. Mountford rose to hug her child immediately.

"Oh Vinnie, look at you! Let's get you home this instant – she can go home now, can't she, Inspector?"

"I'm afraid we will need a sworn statement from her..." the watery eyes of Lavinia Mountford stopped Reid for a moment before he amended his point "...but I can send someone around to take one from her when she is in better health if you'd like. Take her home and get her rested, Mrs. Mountford."

"I told you it was foolish to let her man the shop on her own!" Mrs. Mountford turned her attention to her husband, who remained silent and very unhappy looking.

"She's fine, she'll be fine won't she? Calm down woman. Inspector, thank you." Mr. Mountford nodded to the other men, leading his wife and daughter out of the room.

Finally alone to work on the case, the three men breathed a sigh not of relief, but of frustration. .

"We must find out who is employing these men to commit crimes. I doubt those we have in custody are his only employees."

"Perhaps we might get more information from these men?" Drake asked, ready to roll up his sleeves. Reid was very tempted to take up that offer, but something irked him.

"I fear they don't know much more. It isn't worth bruising your fists for just yet, Sergeant. Jackson, do you think you could find out what word exists on the street of hired thieves?"

"I can _try_, yeah."

"I wish to study previous reports of robbery. They mentioned being paid for a certain quantity of items. Perhaps there is a trend to be found in the value of items stolen in recent months. Sergeant, come with me." Reid left Jackson to clean up and head out, while he and Drake made their way into the back room where they might enlist the help of others to filter through past reports. This would be a long day, and they all knew it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Short one this time! I intend to update again tomorrow and the day after so I've split the scenes down a bit to help space it out. Enjoy!**

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They had worked through 'till nightfall, the men of H-Division, but it was appearing to have been worth it. It came to be that it was actually not all that difficult to track down the worth of stolen items from the past two months, and a trend was starting to show. There seemed to be three brackets of robbery – takings worth £20, £50 and £100, with anomalies in between. All of these trending values came with mentions of gangs of men, some wielding guns and some not. The only injuries reported so far had been minor bruises or beatings, although that might've had something to do with the fact that they gave up the items. Miss Mountford had told Drake and Jackson that she stood her ground before the gunshot, and that made all the difference.

The men had written up a chart with names to pursue – some in prison and some still roaming the streets. Drake still seemed keen on interrogating the men they had, and in fact couldn't sit still at the mention of it.

"Bennet, is something the matter? You seem...disturbed."

"No sir, I just think it best to try and get as much information out of the little shits as possible. Shooting guns and beating a little woman like that is bad enough, but if they're linked to-"

"The young woman's state is irrelevant, many have suffered worse in these streets."

"But she's not the kind of target you expect. Not the kind who deserves it – not that any of those women on the streets deserved what happened to them –" he was stumbling over his words now, visibly irritated despite his usual efforts to maintain decency in public. "but it's just that she seemed a little soft and scared. Of all the people to have to go through this." Drake shook his head before continuing. "There are plenty more shops with plenty of innocent people workin' them, and the sooner we find out who is targeting them, the more people we can save from similar circumstances."

The young woman's distress had clearly gotten to Drake, and Reid wondered if marriage had exposed the Sergeant to a mind-set of concern. Now that he had a woman to care for deeply, perhaps he feared for the safety of all women even more than before.

"Sir?" Artherton was stood in the hallway, looking a mix of equal parts disgruntled and worried.

"George Lusk is here again."

"What do they want now?" Reid snapped, standing up.

"No, sir. It's _just_ George Lusk. No other men from the committee."

Perplexed, Reid marched out and down to find a dirtied George Lusk stood by the front desk, his hat in his hands. He looked filthy despite his smart clothes and Reid had to admit that at least the man worked hard for a living. Work as a builder in London was never easy on the hands or the spirit, but it seemed to provide enough for the Lusk family.

"How can I help you?"

"I wanted to enquire as to the condition of the girl we brought in. Seemed only right."

"She has been taken home this morning to rest in bed for a while. Minor injuries compared to the death we suspected."

"May I enquire as to a name?"

"Lavinia Mountford. May _I _enquire as to your reason for asking? I do not want you meddling further in this, Lusk."

"I wish to be a gentleman and ensure that she is recovering, Inspector Reid. When last I saw her she was naked and bleeding in your mortuary and it seems right to check if she is at home in better condition. I don't intend to meddle - I will at least give you men a _chance_ to do your jobs correctly." There was a tone of doubt in his voice, as if he knew the police would fail. Reid did not let it get to him, though, and Lusk replaced his hat, turning on his heel with that damned beating stick still in his left hand.

"Won't you be needing an address?" Reid called after him, wondering if he'd just been fooled into giving away a name in his frustrated state.

"I'll find it out myself." The other man waved his hand, not even bothering to look after his shoulder as he responded. Then, he was out through the station doors and left Reid to huff before he returned to the table he had been working at, helping Drake to make sense of the various names and victims.


	6. Chapter 6

**Another short one today, one to follow tomorrow. Hopefully the dialogue is still consistent. Feedback as always is very much appreciated :)**

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About an hour later Jackson returned, disgruntled and with few leads. It seemed he was no longer able to blend in and strike up conversations with the common man any more – too many recognised him and his affiliation with the police.

He did, however, have a theory on the apparent death of Miss Mountford, having stopped by Tenter street to retrieve one of his few medical books brought over from the new world. He found Reid and Drake in a back room, and opened the book over their various bits of paperwork.

"The Mountford girl didn't die, and she didn't fall into a normal coma."

"Then what-" Reid began before the American held up a hand.

"Catalepsy." He said as if that was supposed to mean anything to the others, pointing to a section in the medical textbook. "Muscular rigidity, waxy flexibility, little reaction to pain and a slowing of bodily functions. There's stories – probably not all true – of people being mistaken for dead when they have these fits. There's apparently a trend between it and epilepsy or severe stress."

"So the stress of the attack could have sent her into one of these fits?" Reid perked up a little at the notion of diagnosing this problem.

"Absolutely. The girl seems pretty sheltered, having a gun pointed at her would be shocking enough. If she has epilepsy it's all the more likely that stress triggered her."

"And would it be possible for someone to have known of her health and deliberately tried to cause her a fit?"

"Perhaps, if they thought it'd make the robbery easier. Or they may have just thought her health meant she'd give up easily. Hell, they may not have known at all."

"Sergeant Drake," Reid turned to the other man, his face a little flushed with newfound energy. "Roll up your sleeves. I intend to get as many names and pieces of information out of our men in the cells as possible. I want to know who paid them and what they knew of the shop and the girl, if anything."

"Right you are sir." Drake rose, shrugging off his jacket.

"I'll come help; there's nothing out on the streets that I can get from people. They all know me as the Inspector's American now." Jackson swanned after them, hands in his pockets to fish out a cigarette. God, that was not a title he wanted to have to say out loud himself. But it was unfortunately becoming true, and he wasn't much use on the streets. At least here he could decipher any information given, and maybe even throw a punch or two himself if he fancied it.


	7. Chapter 7

A fellow builder had helped restore the jewellery shop now owned by Mr. Mountford and so it was not difficult to get a hold of a home address, which George Lusk headed over to despite the late evening. His youngest was only nine years old, but her elder siblings were used to caring for her while their father was busy with work and the committee. He would still be there to tuck Lillian in to bed and that was most important.

Knocking at the door with his beating stick (which was perhaps a bad habit developed over the months), George doffed his hat to the maid that answered, who fetched the lady of the house when he explained his business. A tall woman with long, sturdy features came to meet him, her face pale and haggard with worry. George was invited in and he explained his connection to the case, for which Mrs. Mountford seemed very grateful.

"I just wanted to see how the girl is doing, since hearing she survived. I'd feared the worst when finding her but I hope she is recovering well."

"She is, Mr. Lusk."

"Might I see her and give her my wishes? If it's not too much trouble-"

"I think she'd be glad for the company, and to thank you herself. She won't sleep until the early hours anyway; the girl has always been that way. I'll take you up now." Smiling, Mrs. Mountford led the chairman upstairs and down a hallway into a warm room, the walls painted a soothing vanilla-yellow. The large four-poster bed she laid in did not help the already fragile and small appearance she had, but Lavinia Mountford did seem alive and well, sat up in bed with a book in her hands.

"Lavinia, you have a visitor!" her mother chirped, and the girl obediently placed a marker in her book and closed it, putting it aside.

"Hello." She said politely, although clearly had no recollection of who he was. George almost hoped she didn't remember him being thrust into the mortuary and accused of her attack.

Now was the first time that Lusk really got a good look at her, without hair strewn about a pale, dead face. She did, in fact, have colour about her. She was washed and tidied up now, hair pinned back to reveal deep green eyes under a strong brow, pitch black eyebrows standing out against her more mousy-blonde hair. Those eyes were not terribly wide to begin with, and one was even smaller now due to the swelling of the injury on her cheek. Her lips were thick and positioned in a permanent pout, and even with the injury to her face it was obvious she had strong, sharp cheekbones that went with an equally strong jaw. Her mother looked similar, and George figured they must be Slavic in heritage, although their accents indicated they have been born in England. Interestingly, he thought they sounded as if they'd come from a far more well-to-do part than London.

"My name is George Lusk, miss. It was the vigilance committee including myself who found you and caught your attackers. I had heard you were home and resting and wanted to ensure you were on the road to recovery."

"They said they'd thought I was dead." She replied rather eerily, voice flat. "Did you think me dead also?"

"I'm afraid so." He nodded, holding his hat with both hands. Strangely, she smiled enough to show him a flash of teeth. Her cheeks seemed to sink in when she smiled, making those cheek bones stick out more and exaggerating her fragile look.

"Well I should thank you, Mr. Lusk. If you hadn't brought me to the station they may not have woken me up. I've been told by the American fellow that they intend to find out what exactly happened. I suppose the men won't hang for murder now."

"Probably not, but they'll serve time."

"I think that better; in prison they can repent, or at least suffer the life that criminal deserve. I'd hate to be part of a trial that sends men to their deaths though."

"Miss Mountford, they beat you - a sight more that I at first thought – and then shot a gun at you. You're an innocent woman making an honest living who beaten and shot at. In my opinion at least one of them deserves to swing for doing that to you."

"You make a good point." She sighed, shoulders falling.

"That being said, I just hope the boys in blue don't continue to imply I had anything to do with the attack."

"Well they had best not!" she sat up a bit more, and George could see she wore an off-white night gown. "I mean it in a helpful way, but I'd never met you before in my life. I fail to see how you could have been behind anything. I shall set them straight if they dare bring you in after you were instrumental in saving my life, Mr. Lusk."

"Will you be staying for long, Mr. Lusk?" Mrs. Mountford interjected, and George felt unwelcome until she added "I was going to have tea brought up and I can ask Sarah to put an extra cup on the tray if you'd like to stay."

"Do stay! I want to know how many other villainous people you've caught!" Lavinia clapped her hands together, leaning forward.

"Ah, well, I thank you for the offer Mrs. Mountford and I would love to speak the praises of our men but I have children to return to, and I wouldn't want to impose on you any longer when appearing out of the blue. I do apologise for the rudeness, but I should probably head home now." He tipped his hat to both women, but Lavinia continued to speak with a curious air about her.

"Won't your wife be caring for them?"

"I like to see the little ones off to bed." George forced a smile, tipping his hat again "I wish you a speedy recovery, Miss Mountford. I will do everything in my power to make sure the men who attacked you see the justice they deserve."

"Thank you again, Mr. Lusk. It was lovely to meet you." She returned his smile. "I'm sorry I cannot see you out myself."

"Please, don't be. You're injured." He nodded and allowed her mother to see him out instead. At the door downstairs, he paused and spoke to the woman frankly.

"The men who attacked her will not hang, but I consider it a worthy sacrifice of justice if it means in turn she has survived. I will ensure they are charged to the fullest extent for the wounds and injury they gave her. The fact that she _may_ have died from whatever shock they drove her into will not be forgotten in court, I can assure you ma'am."

"Thank you, Mr. Lusk. We appreciate your help; all of you in the vigilance committee. It was your group's existence that encouraged us to move here when those murders before put us off. I am very thankful for your help."

"I wish you all the best, Mrs. Mountford. Good evening." Tipping his hat once more, George set off into the night.

He wondered if Reid had men stationed outside of the Mountford house for safety. There was, in fact, a small plume of smoke a little down the street that looked to be coming from a cigarette, and the person made no effort to move or hide when George was stopped and clearly looking at their figure. They were too far off for the cigarette light to illuminate their face but they seemed ready to move off as he headed down a street in the opposite way. As he looked over his shoulder, he could see the little fading dot of red moving away, and the thought of them reporting his presence at the house to their Inspector made Lusk chuckle. It would only serve his purposes more for the police to harass him about being involved.

Continuing home on foot, George adjusted his hat and hoped to arrive home in time to read a story to Lillian before bed.


	8. Chapter 8

This case had, in some ways, the same stink about it that Gower's case had. It wasn't just the involvement of the ever-infuriating George Lusk, but also the organised crime and fearful silence. Carmichael had been the king of that, and when he'd died there were surely handfuls of men ready to take over the position.

Regardless, this person had left too obvious a trend and to Reid that implied the pompous assumption that police would never catch up to this individual. They felt so assured that they weren't even compelled to scatter their crimes. Either that or they were incredibly stupid and lucky to have evaded detection so far.

Although he had no proof yet, Reid thought it important to consider Lusk's role in this. If he somehow knew about the girl's vulnerability to catalepsy, he could have somehow orchestrated this fiasco. The men wouldn't know he was involved if he had approached their 'boss' himself. At the same time, Lusk seemed quite passionately on the good side of the law and committing a crime such as that didn't become him. He was a person of interest, for now.

Interrogation had revealed some interesting points and although the others thought it very little, Reid felt it could take them to a main location or find them a serious name.

The gunman, named Tobias Nichols, had revealed the most. His guilt over the crime and fear of injury meant he was speaking before Drake had even broken a sweat. They had a list of robberies he and the others been involved in, many of which fitted in with the trend of robberies worth £20 or £50. There were still plenty of spaces to fill in the list of trending crimes, which helped to confirm the assumption that there was more than one gang operating for this 'boss'.

These men had once or twice delivered items to a building just off Hanbury street, and that was where Reid would send men first. It might be empty and used only for deliveries, or it might contain the permanent workings of a lead. The only way to find out was to go.

Drake had been permitted a visit home to change, eat, wash and maybe sleep a little before his planned visit to the address in the morning. He and several men were to watch the building for the day in case of activity, and at night more numbers would arrive (as the cover of night seemed to lend itself to criminal activity well). As much as he felt gratified during an interrogation, Bennet was rarely fond of the sting of his red, grazed knuckles. He would wash them and hopefully find something to eat, slip into bed next to Bella for a few hours then wake and head straight to Hanbury Street for six am.

Arriving home just shy of two am, Bennet found a covered plate on the table. With a few candles and matches left out for him to light easily. The plate had cold ham, bread, cheese and carrots. He remembered with a twinge of guilt that Bella had been excited about cooking him a joint of gammon tonight. He would apologise for leaving her to dine on her own tomorrow.

The food did not last long in front of the hungry Sergeant and he was soon in the bathroom, washing his face and soaking his hands in warm water boiled at the stove while he was eating. His knuckles would be stiff for a day or two but it would be worth it if Hanbury Street took them anywhere in the investigation. There was always something very enjoyable about hurting those who he felt deserved it, but Bennet would never admit to such a pleasure. It led to far too much of a moral crisis, and even inwardly acknowledging it now left him rubbing his knuckles with a frown.

Bella found him rubbing the cloth over what were probably sore and achy shoulders, a thin robe wrapped around her to add a little warmth. Her night gown underneath hung around her ankles, swaying as she came to stop in the doorway with her arms crossed. Bennet caught sight of her and turned, mouth open ready to apologise but his wife gave him a smile that he recognised well by now. It meant 'shut up you silly fool' and it seemed to surface on her face every time he was late. Still, it wouldn't stop his inherent strive for good manners.

"I'm sorry, love, I didn't foresee us working so long."

"It's fine, I am just happy you've come home in one piece." Bella knew what she'd signed up for when marrying a policeman, and she understood how demanding and important his work was. She'd never even think of chiding him for staying late at work, as long as that was what he was actually doing. In fact, even if he was an hour late because he'd been drinking at the pub she didn't think she could be angry. The sort of things her husband witnessed and dealt with left him deserving far more than the odd pint, she thought. "Are you heading back out again?"

"No, I've to be somewhere by six but that gives me a few hours for sleep." Bennet slipped a night shirt on, brushing back dishevelled hair that he wished he had the time (and energy) to wash. It'd have to wait another night, though.

"I'll wake up a little earlier and we'll have breakfast together." She smiled, and Bennet didn't have the heart to tell her not to bother. She seemed to cherish the time they could spend together and he did honestly enjoy it too. He'd sit with his arm around her while he read interesting articles from the newspaper, and eat some of her surprisingly well-made eggs and bacon (for a girl who claimed not to have any real experience with cooking). Christ, she made a good cup of tea, too. He'd ask for one now if he wasn't so desperate for sleep.

"I'd like that." Was his reply instead, watching her smile grow as he approached her in the doorway. "Just promise you'll go back to bed after I leave, if you're tired."

Bella brought her arms down from her chest and draped them over his shoulders, planting a kiss on his lips. She could smell the soap he'd just used to wash, and kissed his cheek as he leaned in to hold her tightly.

"Let's get some sleep, Bennet." She whispered to him, taking him by the hand and leading him through into the bedroom, where she quickly settled with her head on his chest and his arm around her. His heart no longer thumped at the speed of terrified horses when they lay together, and she liked it. They were settled now; married and happy and comfortable. She may not see her husband every night at six on the dot like some women, but she cherished every moment with him as a result of his busy work, and he gave her the freedom to still be herself rather than rushing around as a housewife to get everything fixed by the evening. This was truly wonderful, she thought.


	9. Chapter 9

**Next chapter is going to be quite big on story development so will be very long! I'm posting this chapter now to fill the gap as I work through everything. Thanks for sticking with the story and viewing, and as always thinks to AnotherKim for your reviews, they make this stuff all the more fun and worthwhile to write!**

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Although Reid had considered joining his men on a daytime watch at Hanbury Street, there were still pressing matters at Leman Street. A connection between the Mountfords and their attackers needed to be found (or disproved). He wanted to see if the shop was randomly selected or if someone had specifically targeted them – and if so, why? Reid knew for a fact that there were many more shops in Whitechapel carrying more jewellery. Harpur Jewellers had only just stared up again – why rob the place with the least stock and money in the safe? He was of course also hoping to find out how reliable a witness Lavinia Mountford was, and if her injuries had left more permanent marks on her mind. For that, Jackson was held back from Hanbury Street too (much to Drake's delight), hiding out in the mortuary for now. Hopefully he could approach the situation with as much tact as Reid intended to.

The woman arrived at nine am sharp, her hair appearing hurriedly pinned back and hidden under a bonnet. She was unaccompanied and seemed flustered, but Reid attributed it to caring for her daughter and getting read y for what she might think was a police interrogation. She was led into his office, taking a seat opposite the Inspector, and offered a drink of water which she accepted. Before long, she was settled and Reid sat with notepaper while taking up the task of speaking to her.

"Mrs. Mountford, may I have your first name, for records?"

"Marie." Shee answered obediently, and suddenly Edmund saw that perhaps Lavinia Mountford was not as much touched in the head as she was shy and withdrawn; in the same way her mother was now.

"How old is your daughter, Lavinia?"

"She'll be twenty-two in July. Born 1868."

"The girl is over twenty?" Reid was honestly astonished. She was tall enough to be of an age but he'd assumed she was just gangly. "Unmarried, I assume?"

"Yes, Inspector."

"This may sound invasive, Mrs Mountford, but has she had any disputes with potential suitors? Or indeed, have your or your husband taken issue with anyone she wished to be pursued by?"

"Not…not really." The woman was clearly thinking hard, a pout forming on thick lips before she spoke again. "She does not like a lot of men she meets at social events. She had her debut four years ago but we've had no luck. And then the ones she might consider get put off her. I'm sure you've noticed, but she is rather blunt in behaviour."

"I have only met her during an extremely traumatic event; any behaviour of hers cannot be judged by myself or anyone else on this force." Reid stated, watching the woman smile with comfort.

"She speaks out of turn a lot. She's in no way stunted, Inspector, I can tell you that. Doctors have assured me she is of normal mind – just very youthful. Her first defence in a scary situation is to become difficult and bold. She'll argue with men over the tiniest thing because she's nervous around them. But then at other times, she'll have wonderful and in-depth conversations with them, and be the picture of perfection in an eligible young girl. She just won't be interested in marrying them and the association ends. I suppose she just wants friends."

"These arguments, have any been specific?" Reid was scribbling things as fast as possible before looking up at the woman was as neutral and non-judgemental a face as possible.

"None that I know of. Most of it comes out at home with her siblings – Vinnie is a middle child and they always act out the worst don't they?" Mrs. Mountford laughed a little, glancing down at the paper he wrote on. "She is much more polite than when she first had her debut, though, so I doubt she could ever have offended anyone in London in the few months we have lived here."

"Has anyone in her family had significant problems with her, or indeed the rest of the family? Any employees or family members that separated from you on bad terms?"

"We've had the same domestic girl since she was sixteen, she's in her thirties now! All of Vinnie's siblings love her and she does love them back; children fight all the time. It's normal, it doesn't mean they hate each other or-"

"Mrs. Mountford, you must understand that I do not seek to point out where there may be faults in your family, but rather pinpoint a source, willing or not, of information that could have been leaked about your family. Is there anyone in London that may dislike your family or your business?"

"A few people were unhappy when Frank – my husband – bought the business. They seemed to think he should buy it but let the old owner still run it – you know, keep the business in the family. When we moved into the buildings and offered staff their jobs back after they'd been laid off, some were very passionate in expressing their rejection of the position. It's actually why we've received praise for giving new work to the area, because quite a few new faces were brought into the workplace to make up for it. Lavinia works the shop because it isn't anywhere as busy as the warehouse or office and it keeps her busy."

"And she has never had trouble before?"

"No, she runs it very well. Does minor repairs herself, and has been studying hard at appraising to buy items then and there at the counter. She's sold a fair amount well, too. I suppose it's very easy for her to help a man find his lady friend a present when she isn't distracted by wanting him herself."

"Have these people that were unhappy with your husband's acquisition of the company ever caused trouble at the warehouse or offices?"

"That would be something to ask my husband, I am afraid."

"I was hoping you would bring Lavinia along for my surgeon to examine."

"She was sleeping and I didn't want to wake her after so few hours of sleep. I could bring her along later, though."

"No, don't worry. I will have your doctor communicate any concerns to us if you give me a name."

"I have his card here, just in case actually." She fiddled with her handbag, producing a card in a side pocket with Reid attached to his notes with a paperclip. "He said her cut was actually an incision, though." She sounded grim about the notion, blinking a few times.

"Our surgeon removed a benign growth thinking it relevant. The surgery did, in fact, save her life when we realised her blood still flowed. If she is upset over the scar I would remind her that a scar is a small price to pay for one's life. The first incision he could have made might have been right down her chest to crack open her ribs-" Reid caught himself as Mrs. Mountford covered her mouth, eyebrows knitted night. "I apologise, Mrs. Mountford. Just rest assured it is a minor cut and expertly stitched."

"He did say that, actually. The doctor, I mean…"

"Well…I may need to speak to you at another time, Mrs. Mountford, but for now I believe your husband is the best to interview. Where is he best reached?"

"He's at the offices most days, all except Sunday if he can get away with it. I believe you have the address. He's normally home around six in the evening for dinner."

"I shall see about meeting him today. I can't see him struggling to make time when it comes to the assault of his own child." Reid gave her a reassuring smile and rose, the woman pausing a moment with her lips pressed.

"Inspector, before I leave, might I ask something of you?"

"Of course." He sat again, entwining his fingers and resting them on the desk.

"We were visited by Mr. Lusk last night – the man who found Vinnie. I was wondering if you might know how I could contact him so I may thank him properly.

"He visited your home?" Reid was actually surprised that had been Lusk's true intention, and as this was the first he was hearing of the event he struggled to keep his eyebrows at a normal height. "Well, the vigilance committee still meets on occasions even after being stood down…" he searched his mind for the hall where they met…or was it a pub? It struck Reid, that there was one address he knew by heart. "But I can give you his home address where you will be more likely to find him. I shall write it down."

"Thank you, Inspector." She watched him scribble an address down, one side of his mouth tensed. As childish and backhanded as it sounded, Reid hoped giving Lusk's address to the woman would mean her flustering at him would keep him out of the way a little bit.

"There; Number one, Alderney Road." He handed her the paper, and then rose again to see her out. Mrs. Mountford pocketed the paper and followed, bidding him and Artherton (who had kept her company while waiting to see Reid) a polite goodbye.

Outside, Marie was unfortunate enough to make eye contact with a beggar standing by the door.

"Ma'am, I couldn't trouble you for some pennies? I've got a family to feed." He was hunched over a bit, holding out a dirty hand. Frank would always tell these people to sling their hooks, but she considered it a gift from God that they'd lost no money when the shop was robbed. It would be wrong (and extremely un-Christian) to ignore the needy. Digging into her purse (careful not to lift the whole thing out lest it be snatched), Mrs. Mountford pressed £1 into the man's hand, smiling as he looked down to realise what he'd been given.

"Spend it wisely, please." She said, turning to walk away as the man stood speechless, before shouting a thank you down the street in the hopes she would hear it. Frank would chide her and say it would be wasted on alcohol but Marie did her best to imagine a table of children tucking in to their first hot meal in weeks thanks to her.

A bit of the way down the road, the beggar still stood, pocketing the money and waiting to see if anyone else would be charitable - £1 wouldn't last forever with him. It was difficult to catch someone's eye in the hustle and bustle of the street, and it was in fact the reason he did not see a man directly approaching him until his upper arm was gripped tight in a subtle grab, pulling him along to walk with the flow of people.

"Walk with me, David." The man said, turning to face the beggar who now recognised him. "I noticed you've come into some money just now."

"I need it for myself." The beggar insisted weakly.

"Would you like to tell that to my employer's face?"

"I've paid everything to him that I owe."

"Yes, but you were unlucky enough to receive charity from a person of his interest. He'll wish to have a talk with you." The man tipped his hat down a little, still holding David the beggar's arm as he hailed a carriage.


	10. Chapter 10

The man opposite David in the carriage, known to him as 'Silk', had an unremarkable face and it was what made him blend in so well and evade ever being identified. Even if some fool did decide to report his activities, it was so very hard to describe him without describing hundreds of thousands of other men.

David did know that the man had a less remarkable body, with very heavily scarred arms that reminded the beggar of a striped cat. He'd seen those bare arms during a particularly dreadful situation which saw the snot literally beaten out of David by the other man. How Millie had wept when he'd returned home bloodied and beaten. The price for seeing those remarkable and identifiable scars was the fear that he would suffer worse if he ever went to the police.

Silk was silent, his eyes always looking ahead at you but rarely making eye contact when he wasn't speaking. He was watching you; working out your mood and your most likely next move. He kept his hat on indoors because he was never inside for long, and he never smoked because of the smell and ash it might leave behind. He was very, very smart and that was a terrifying thing.

The carriage slowed and David's heart sped up, recognising the doorway visible from the carriage window. He could never make his way here alone (the route was obscured), but he would always recognise the worn, brown wooden door. Silk opened the door with his own key and gently pushed David in, nodding to the carriage driver before closing and locking it behind him.

Cigar smoke assaulted David's senses but he would not dare cough for fear of the offense it might cause.

Through a doorway and past various glares, David entered a small room with a lit fireplace, a distinctive chittering from a glass vivarium nearby notifying the person seated by the fire that he had a visitor.

"Sir, got something of interest for you." Said Silk, standing behind David so he could not flee. The figure rose from their chair and stood to face them, looking unimpressed. Rarely was that an expression you wanted to see on the man known as 'Fiddle.'

"A beggar." The man said, sounding equally untouched by the delivery.

"A beggar with a quid in his pocket given by Marie Mountford." Silk responded quickly to justify the disturbance. Fiddle's expression became neutral and he beckoned David forward.

"Mrs. Marie Mountford handed you one pound?"

"Yes, sir." The beggar responded, eyes to the floor.

"How long ago?"

"Maybe half an hour."

"I brought him straight here." Silk added, leaning against the doorway. A small dog brushed past the man's legs, stopping to sniff at David before padding further and jumping up into the seat previously occupied by Fiddle. The man did not seem unhappy about this, walking forward to address his visitor again.

"You may return home with that pound, David, if you are willing to cooperate with me now."

It sounded too good to be true, and there was probably a catch. But he'd be willing to do a great deal of difficult or terrible things for a whole £1. He'd expected to leave with it all gone.

"Yes sir, I'll do whatever you ask."

"Good. Silk; have a seat brought in so that David and I may speak. A hot drink too, please. Do you prefer tea or coffee, David?"

"I won't trouble you for either, sir."

"Bring a pot of tea, Silk." Fiddle waved his associate away to retrieve these items, walking back to his own seat. He petted the dog behind its ears for a moment, giving a gentle and encouraging push to let the animal know it should get up. With a thud the dog jumped down onto the carpet, sitting at its master's feet and watching intently as another seat was brought in. Fiddle gave a quiet "no" to the dog when it tried to jump up onto that seat, and David was permitted to sit in front of a man he was most terrified of and now, as far as anyone else in the building would be concerned, in debt to.


	11. Chapter 11

**Just a quick note for those not aware of how pedigrees and dog shows have affected them, when the dog in this story is referred to as a bulldog, she is not the short, stocky kind with a flat face and upturned jaw like we have now. She is a bulldog from the victorian era, which as larger, more slender and with a more natural snout. Example pic: . **

* * *

Marie had left after her own dinner, leaving the rest of the family to chew a bit slower. Frank wasn't worried as long as he had a hot meal after coming home from work, and he didn't have concerns about his wife's comings and goings.

Number one, Alderney road. Lights were on and she'd left enough time to allow him to eat his own dinner, and now stood knocking gently on the front door. A young woman answered, the laughter of children behind her.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this the Lusk residence? I'd like to speak to Mr. Lusk."

"Which one?" a young boy poked his head around a doorway, giggling. The woman shot him a glare before turning back to the visitor.

"You probably mean my father. Come in, I'll fetch him, he's in the kitchen." The woman swept down the hallway, disappearing around the doorway the small boy had come from. "Daddy, someone is here for you." The woman disappeared and after a moment, Mr. Lusk appeared in the hallway with a welcoming smile.

"Mrs. Mountford! Is there something I can help you with?"

"I'm sorry, I was wondering if I might talk to you, but I did not know where to find you during the day."

"No need to apologise. We can talk in the living room, come." He ushered her down through another door, holding a finger to his lips as he passed the kitchen to hush the children in there. When they entered the living room he shut the door and offered her a seat before taking another one opposite, sat up straight. Although he had a welcoming and friendly air about him, he was clearly concerned by her calling.

"How can I help, ma'am?"

"I wanted to speak to you properly about the event regarding my daughter. Well, I wanted to thank you properly for your involvement. I think the police are taking it very seriously now and I've no doubt that you helped in that."

"You don't owe me any more thank-you's, Mrs. Mountford. We vigilance men exist to keep our streets safe enough for people to walk them and use the businesses. Innocent people and innocent businesses are my concern and Intend to keep them as safe as possible. Plus, I will admit that kicking up a fuss with the police is not at all a chore for me." He shot her a lopsided smile and Marie noticed his nose was crooked, a shadow from the lights around them accentuating it.

"I still feel it important to thank you. My husband is more involved in work at the moment but I intend to repay you somehow."

"No, Mrs. Mountford, there isn't any need."

"It's the Christian thing to do, though. We could have lost so much money in the shop, but thanks to your and the committee's presence we barely lost anything and can continue to make a comfortable living. I intend to have my husband contribute to the running of the vigilance committee so you can better achieve your aims."

"You are very kind."

"I feel awful not bringing such a cheque with me but, as I said, my husband has his work. He helped me collect Lavinia from the station but hasn't seen her since."

"I suppose he is concerned about the safety of his work now."

"Well, he has been this way for a while. We can't live comfortably forever unless he gets things done. Sometimes I think he cares for the business more than his family. His daughter was so gravely attacked and he doesn't even visit her or ask about her." Marie stopped herself, cheeks flushing. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to rant about things that don't concern you. I did want to ask what aspects of the committee could benefit most from financial support, though."

"Well, we pay otherwise unemployed men to patrol…" George said, his mind still with her previous words about Mr. Mountford 'not caring'.

"I should let him know, then. Thank you again, Mr. Lusk. I would not keep you from your family any longer."

"Please, Mrs. Mountford." He beckoned for her to remain seated despite her slight rise from the chair. "If you would permit me to ask as a man of business myself, does your husband find it hard to produce income from the business?"

"No, not really. We live comfortably and still place money in savings. I think he just prefers to stay at the office. We have many daughters at home, and I suppose we women don't make very good conversation."

"I don't think that correct of an entire gender. I know plenty of boring men too. Would you please let him know he is free to contact me if his concern with work is based in finances? The survival of local business is never important to me, Mrs. Mountford."

"I will do, Mr. Lusk. Please don't expect him to find time to speak with you, though. When his own daughter asks to see him and is denied, I do not think you or even the Inspector from the police will have a great deal of luck. His ambition is tremendous."

"He is really that insistent on not seeing her?" George asked, wondering in hindsight if that was too invasive a question.

"Most of us, really. Always has an excuse these days. I see him at meals mostly."

"That doesn't sound ideal. Perhaps I'll find the time to make an appointment and visit him, see how his business is going and if he'd be interested on any input from others."

"You really suspect he's keeping money troubles from us?"

"I should think that a sight better than him simply no longer wanting to talk with his wife and children." He tipped his head, eye brows raised. The other woman considered this and nodded.

"You're right. I will talk to him about supporting the vigilance committee anyway – in whatever way we can – and perhaps visit you again soon. Thank you for your time and patience, Mr. Lusk. I meant to come here and thank you, not burden you with the trials of my family."

"Please, you must call me George." He stood, offering her a hand to lead her from the living room. Marie was not comfortable with using people's forenames but she stored the name away in her mind just in case. "And as you yourself said earlier, it is the Christian thing to do. I am more than willing to help."

"Thank you for your time. You're more than welcome to visit us if you have the time. The offer of tea still stands too. I think Lavinia might enjoy the visit too." She smiled at the doorway, stepping outside as he held the door open.

"I may well do that, Ma'am, if work permits. Give my best to your daughter; I hope she is feeling better."

"She is making the most of our domestic's sympathy and probably feasting on her fourth slice of cake of the day right now!"

"A good appetite will get her back on her feet quickly at least." He laughed from the belly, rubbing under his eyes. "Would you like me to walk you home, Mrs. Mountford? It's getting late and dark-"

"Oh, goodness no. You have children, and I promise you the walk is not far for me. Goodnight, Mr. Lusk."

"George." He corrected her and smiled, nodding his head. "Goodnight Mrs. Mountford, take care."

* * *

For yet another night, Joseph Silk was stood with his shoulder against a street light. At his feet, the mongrel bitch Constance panted and observed her surroundings, occasionally walking a few feet away to sniff at a bush but always returning.

Joseph Silk was not his real name, but it was the only one he answered to. There was no record, written or spoken, of his life before London and that was how it would stay. He was well-known in his work by the name Silk, and it was his name now. He actually rather liked it, even though it catered to the ever-frustrating theatrics of his employer.

The Mountford woman had come home a little while ago and the house seemed quiet. He'd give it another hour and then move on. Most nights Joseph would be disgruntled by the idea of hanging around out here for so long, but since someone else would be taking over the job very soon, he could tolerate the lack of sleep.

Constance gave him a curious glance as he lit a cigarette, shifting on his flat and calloused feet that barely ached despite hours walking on them. She nudged his leg and whined a few times before sitting on the ground, tail brushing the pavement as it wagged. After a while, Silk produced the item she had been whining for – a bone – and she happily chewed at it while he remained in a silent, motionless vigil.


	12. Chapter 12

Rain battered hard against the windows behind Reid, and it honestly wasn't as much of a comfort as one might think while still curled up in bed (if you'd could call the rickety cot such a thing). He imagined that Bennet was at home right ow, wrapped up in blankets and a wife, smiling at her and commenting on how cosy and warm he was while there was a downpour outside. Jackson would likely wake next to Susan too, warm in her embrace while the walls of Tenter Street kept them safe and dry. Reid never left the station now – his home was empty and unattended. It grew cold and lonely and uncomfortable, but it almost felt like penance. It kept his mind in his work too.

Hanbury street had brought nothing of use – the building was visited by no one all day yesterday and Reid wasted several hours in the evening keeping watch. His day had been equally wasted pursuing Frank Mountford, who refused a meeting. A single officer was to be stationed on watch outside Hanbury Street, moving in shifts to allow rest and other duties. For now, though, Reid and his men were no closer to an answer. The look displayed on Drake's face later that morning when arriving to work confirmed what Reid was thinking – another interrogation may be in order. Still, he felt it could produce little more information.

News had broken that their victim lived, and so the men could no longer be threatened with the hangman's noose. Reid held today's newspaper in his hands, a sketch of Lavinia Mountford featuring in the middle of the article about her attack. It was Fred Best's writing for sure; highly emotive and bias, meant to rile up readers and think it a scandal that the robbery was ever allowed to happen in the first place. As if Reid needed any more cretins nipping at his ankles. Even the picture served to highlight every aspect of Miss Mountford's innocence; wide eyes and pouting lips like a child caught off guard.

"What do you think we should do next, sir?" Drake asked, rolling his sleeves up as if he was ready for round two with their men in cells.

"I think we should work out a strategy to tease more information from the men. Failing that, we need to find someone who does have the information we seek." Reid had a heavy, glossy look to his face that betrayed how poorly slept he was. Drake, conversely, looked brighter every day. It was amazing what love could do to the roughest of men. Bella had sanded down that rough stone and revealed some shining jewel underneath, Edmund thought.

Before another word could be exchanged between them, a constable came rushing in with such speed he almost collided with his superiors.

"Inspector! There's been another shop burgled. Appears someone really was murdered this time too." The lad said, his face flushed from the run.

"Where?"

"Up Whitechapel high street!"

With that, the men had bolted and found a carriage had already been called over by another constable who'd run over too. Reid and Drake climbed in, the driver was given direction and they headed off.

"Definitely more than one gang, then?" Drake said, fixing his cuffs.

"If they are performing the robbery for the same man, yes. We'll have to check the takings. An actual murder is going to make this harder to deal with publically." Reid almost swore under his breath as that fact hit him, and his stomach sunk as he saw a familiar face perched outside of the particular shop concerned.

"Inspector Reid, surprised you actually made it on time. Them constables we found can run fast." Lusk sighed, pushing himself away from a wall. "Didn't move the body, as you mentioned last time. We caught only one of the little shits – his mate shot him in the leg when they were trying to run off. Your yankee might want a look at him in case he bleeds out before you get a word for him."

"And how did you happen to be present at the robbery once again, Lusk?" through gritted teeth Reid addressed the other man, Drake behind him with an equally unhappy expression.

"We patrol these streets in greater numbers than you, copper. Word of suspicious men travels fast among us, as do our feet." Lusk grabbed the collar of a young man who was on the floor, cloth tied crudely around a bleeding leg. He yanked the boy up ad thrust him towards Reid, upper lip curled ever so slightly. "People are actually dying now. You want to be finding out who this fella is fast."

"I'm surprised the superior skills of you vigilantes haven't triumphed in finding a name."

"No, well we're not the ones employed and paid to solve these crimes. Speaking of employment, I'm due on site for my own business and don't take kindly to my own lateness."

"It pains us to see you go, Lusk." Drake snapped, walking through the doorway to inspect the damage as a constable who'd followed helped restrain the injured man. Lusk's nostrils flared as he turned and walked off, the crowd around thinning but not entirely disappearing.

Inside, there was no indication that this victim could be alive. The man had been shot in the neck, blood splattering the wall behind him and the bullet hole a disastrous mangled mess of flesh. It was a tailor's shop, and the till had been emptied. Some expensive garments may have been taken, but they would need to speak to another worker or see an inventory book to confirm.

"Collect up any relevant paperwork regarding stock. I want this man identified and any family or fellow workers brought in for interview. Have the body taken back to Captain Jackson." Reid listed off commands to his constables, who scurried at his word. Drake stood over the body for a moment, a deep frown surrounding slightly glazed eyes.

"The Mountford lass was shot with a pistol. This is a coach gun wound, sir. Explains why they had a second shot for their mate."

"Do you think they shot him for a reason?"

"Distraction. Seen it enough myself. When you're chasing someone and one falls, people tend to swarm around them. Everyone else can get away." Drake turned with lips pursed, disturbance clear on his face. "They shot this man point-blank in the neck, sir. That's different to some pup of a man waving a pistol around a little girl and shooting it in any odd direction. Our bloke in custody couldn't even aim. This fella wanted to shoot and was ready to do it. No one holds a gun to someone's neck and shoots unless they're comfortable with the weapon and the crime."

"So we are now dealing with someone experienced and ruthless in their task." Reid concluded, watching the Sergeant walk away from the body as two men moved it onto a stretcher. "Let's get the injured man talking, yes?"

"Aye, sir. Although I'd agree it best to have Jackson look at him. We need him alive long enough to talk after all."

"A wise suggestion, Drake." The Inspector responded, fully aware that George Lusk had already suggested the same thing just minutes before.


	13. Chapter 13

**Okay guys, this might seem like a weird one! But bear with me, it'll all start to make sense soon, I promise :)**

* * *

Jackson had sewn the boy up first, leaving him with a useable and no longer bleeding leg. The bone was not shattered and Jackson suggested he was shot at a great distance – they'd ask the patient himself when he recovered from the pain and shock that had left him unconscious.

The boy was left in a cell to awake, and Reid intended to observe the autopsy of the shopkeeper but was pulled back into the station reception at the call of Sergeant Atherton.

He found Frank Mountford there, his face dark and brow furrowed. Reid opened his mouth to greet him (finally amazed to see him after the efforts put into contact yesterday) but the other man spoke before.

"I have received your messages at my offices. And my warehouse, and my home. Your visits are casing an inconvenience to my staff, Inspector. You need only leave one message."

"I would agree, Mr. Mountford, if it were not for the fact that my first request was denied and messages ignored until I went into excess. Your daughter was involved in a very serious incident and we now believe a murder to be committed by men connected to her attack. If you cannot make time in aid of justice for your daughter-"

"You've made your point. I'm here now, and we may talk." Flustered, his moustachioed upper lip twitching, Frank Mountford followed an inwardly pleased Reid to an office, offered the same seat his wife had been given yesterday morning.

"I understand some men took issue with your purchase of Harpur Jewellers. I'd like to know more about this. Include names please, Mr. Mountford."

"It was a father and sons mostly; the Sawyers."

"Forenames and an address?"

"Thomas, Adam, Edward and Lee." The man sighed, furrowing his brow with the effort to remember. "Their cousin, Victor Tomlin, works as our gardener but doesn't have any strong connection with them. He'd be more likely to know their address and other details. All we knew of them were their names and that they thought the business should have stayed in the Harpur family. They refused my offer to return to work in the warehouse. Maybe they had connections to the Harpur family, or maybe they just saw us as outsiders." The man shrugged, fishing for a cigarette in his coat pocket. "What else do you need to know?"

"Did the men ever become violent in their opposition to your purchase?"

"No, they just showed up a few times shouting-"

Drake appeared in the doorway suddenly, sweat on his brow and an apron on his chest splattered with blood. He would not have allowed himself to be seen like this if it weren't for the urgency of the situation.

"Inspector, Captain Jackson wants you in the mortuary immediately."

"I am interviewing, Sergeant Drake."

"It is urgent, sir." Drake panted, his expression earnest. Reid contemplated the situation and watched Frank Mountford already standing to leave.

"I will be in contact with you again." Reid sighed and stood to follow Bennet.

As they entered the dead room, the smell of viscera clotted Reid's nose and he fought back a grimace. Jackson stood by the body with his arms crossed, his face and apron-covered-torso splattered with blood. His eyes – bright white against a canvas of crimson – were half lidded and communicated his displeasure.

"I don't think we need to worry about this 'boss' keeping his work on the down-low any more." Jackson huffed, pouting as Drake handed him a towel to wipe his face.

"What in God's name happened?" was Reid's response, not daring to step close to the body. Walls and surfaces had splatters of blood on them too.

"The stomach was septic and swollen. When I pierced it, it ruptured. And it gets worse" Jackson turned to a tray to pick something up with bare hands. "The guy was force-fed spiders before he died. After enough of them had taken up space, the others had chances to bite before the stomach acid killed them. The venom caused swelling and infection, then when he was killed, the stomach swelled up more with early decomposition."

"There's a lot in there, sir. All clumped together." Drake held up a tray where clumps of dead, partly digested spiders laid. Now that he looked, Reid could see a few spiders splattered against the surrounding surfaces too.

"Lusk said he'd had reports of suspicious men going towards the shop. How would they have had time to force-feed a man and then shoot him?"

"My guess is there was already someone there torturing the guy before the shooter got there, and then he left with the others. The pressure would've built up pretty quick with the bites, but I don't know what kind of spiders they are. Poisonous in some way, though."

"'Course, there's a reason it was spiders specifically, I think." Drake said, dropping the tray down and stepping back away from the body. Jackson nodded, moving to the sink to wash his face properly and allowing the Sergeant to explain. "Sir, d'you remember the urban myth from many years ago about the spider bomber? Dead animals left at the doorway of someone who'd wronged this man, which would eventually burst and let poisonous spiders into the house..."

"…which would then bite and kill the person. We'd never seen a confirmed case." Reid lowered his head. "The word never carried a name, either."

"No, an' when it didn't have the shock value the myth disappeared. Per'aps whoever did this remembers the stories too."

"It's certainly theatrical. If this person wanted to get our attention, they have it."

"It's an Intimidation tactic, Reid." Jackson said, towelling off his face. "The man force-feeds someone with live spiders and then has a henchman shoot the guy in the neck? This is beyond the point of theatrics. This is an insane person trying to scare the police now that we know about him."

"Recent asylum discharges should be requested, then." The inspector concluded, his teeth clenched in frustration at the increasingly bizarre situation before them. "Bennet, clean up and meet me in the cells. I want to see what our captured thief has to say."


	14. Chapter 14

**Phew, this is a long one guys! I wanted to get this far in the story all in one go rather than split it into separate chapters, I hope it still flows well enough. Series 2 of Ripper Street starts tonight in the UK so I will hopefully be able to incorporate more canon character aspects for our main cast (as well as for my Drella fics). As always thank you for the reviews - they really do make writing these chapters a lot of fun and help me to focus on areas I'm doing well in so I can take from it when I'm struggling. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

This morning had been intended to be one of hard work. After racing in pursuit of a gang of thieves (and one of them a murderer), George was ready to settle in at work. However, when he arrived, he found the other men also employed in the building's restoration standing in a corner smoking. No one seemed to be working.

"What's going on?"

"The paint's still wet! Franklin put one thick coat on instead of a few thin coats yesterday. Idiot wanted to save time and now we can't do anything without risking smearing it or leaving debris in it."

"It's not even tacky?" George looked at the wall nearest to him, the strong stench of paint in the air hitting him now.

"No, we found that out the hard way." One man held up a hand covered in faded paint, his trousers marked in an attempt to wipe it off. "We're thinking of finding some other work for the day."

"I have other tasks so I won't join you. I will let the building owner know about the delay though." Nodding to the disgruntled men, Lusk turned on his heel and disappeared out of the open doorway. The others would be doing some sort of day work and he would usually be with them, but today George Lusk knew exactly where he'd rather be and for once he'd prioritise wants over needs.

* * *

Drake was first to enter the cell where the young man was being kept, delivering a harsh nudge to the boy's side.

"Oi, wake up." He snarled, watching as the boy scrambled to sit up. He looked no older than fifteen, but he'd been involved in a murder and Drake could allow little sympathy.

"What is your name, boy?" Reid asked, following the Sergeant and standing tall and wide over their suspect. There was silence as the lad contemplated his best move (or simply recovered from the pain-induced sleep he'd just been through).

"Theo." He finally answered voice hoarse.

"Theo _who_?"

"Sanders, sir. Theo Sanders."

Reid suddenly knelt, close to the boy and face a terrifying stony glare.

"Theo, I would like to know what you were doing on Whitechapel high street this morning."

"Nothing sir, I was just mindin' my own business and-"

"Do not lie to me." Reid's voice was low and steady, but carried as much of a threat as if he had bellowed. Hopefully fear would work to his advantage. "You were seen running away with a group of men who had robbed and murdered a shopkeeper. You would likely have gotten away too, if you hadn't been shot as a distraction. Who were the other men you were with, and who sent you there in the first place?"

"I can't tell you that, sir." The lad swallowed, daring to stare Reid in the eyes. He brought his hands up to his chest and fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. "I can't tell you. Put me in prison, but I won't say."

Drake knelt now, and snatched one of the boy's hands in his much larger and stronger one. There were several faded tattoos of cards over the back of his hand.

"He was one of Carmichael's boys, sir."

"Well trained in the art of silence. Do you remember Thomas Gower? The boy who killed for Carmichael and agreed to tell us of his master's crimes – we saved him. He is alive and your master Carmichael was killed. We intend to prevent innocent death in the same way. You will not hang for just assisting a robbery and you will not face punishment from your current master if you tell us what you know of him."

"You won't get all of 'em. Someone will come find me. I'd rather live in prison than get a snitch's beating."

"Who will beat you?!" Reid pressed. "Because I can assure you boy, you won't be treated with gentle hands here either!" he was losing his temper and Reid was very aware of it, trying to reign himself in. These past months had taken their toll on him and judging by the expression on Bennet's face, it was obvious to everyone else too. "If you will not speak willingly my Sergeant here will employ other methods. You can escape all of that if you comply with us and accept our protection until the men behind these crimes are caught. You will be safe."

Silence followed, so Reid stood and moved back for Drake to take over. Still holding Theo's wrist, he yanked the lad up onto his feet with a grunt. The boy cried out as he was forced to put weight on his injured leg, and fell back against the wall. Drake pulled him away, stopping him from supporting himself on anything. He released the boy and threw his right shoulder back, rolling it forward to deliver a hard punch to the lad's face, knocking him back until he fell into a seated position.

"Get up." Drake growled as the teen started to cry, red soaking through the material of his trouser leg. Drake kicked it an elicited a scream that stopped only when he needed to breathe, and the lad was pulled to his feet again. It did not please Drake to hit a crying boy. Thomas Gower had ended up trapped in an awful situation that he didn't deserve, and maybe this lad was the same. But a beating to a boy was worse than more people being killed.

He struck again and the boy yelped, slamming against the wall and hunching over to hold his leg. Between sobs, he said a word that caused Reid to jump and hold a hand in front of his Sergeant to stop.

"Repeat that." He demanded.

"Silk." The lad whimpered, shaking against the wall and holding his bad leg up to relieve some of the pain. "He goes by the name of Silk."

The two lawmen looked at each other knowingly, and Drake stepped back.

"Where do you meet him?"

"He finds us." Theo panted, sinking down to the floor. "He knows where we are all the time. You have to keep me in here, please. I've already got four legs on my mark, this will have me killed for sure."

"Legs on your mark?" Reid's brow furrowed, and he watched the boy sit up enough to pull his shirt up. Around his navel was a mark, angry red and oval in shape. From it, four lines roughly two inches in length extended – two on each side of the oval. "Spider legs. Snitching is six or eight legs dependin' on what you said, and eight legs is death. He'll kill me if he finds me. He'll beat me so no one knows who I was."

"This man tattoos you with a spider to count your wrong-doings?"

"Scars us, sir. Lasts longer and its part of the punishment. Please don't take me out of here until it's safe, sir. If you take me to a prison he'll have someone in there and they'll kill me." He was still crying, snot running down from his nose. It was a pitiful sight but at least the fellow seemed genuine.

"How can you be so sure of it?"

"He knows everything, sir. No one gets away with doing him wrong." The boy shook his head, crumpling up a bit to hold his leg again. Reid chewed this information over for a moment before beckoning Drake to follow him. "You will stay locked up in here for now, but the moment you refuse to cooperate I _will_ place you in a prison. If he reaches you now that you have told us of him, that is beyond my control. Do you understand me?"

"Crystal clear." The boy nodded frantically, pressing himself against the wall as the men left his cell and locked it behind them, disappearing out of the room.

As the two men swept into the station reception, Reid had already decided upon their next move.

"Spiders weave silk, do they not?" he said aloud, continuing before Drake could answer. "Bennet, you read a great deal don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"How are you with writing?"

"I wouldn't know, Inspector. Never really sat down and wrote much aside from letters or criminal reports"

"We'll find out now, then, how deep your talents reach. I want to write something for Best to place in his damned newspaper. We are chasing a man who is at best theatrical and at worst insane. If we cannot find him, we will encourage him to find us."

* * *

The maid answered the door again, but recognised the visitor and immediately called for the lady of the house. Moments later, a well-dressed Marie Mountford arrived at the door smiling.

"I hope you will permit the visit so soon after yours last night, Mrs. Mountford, but I had some free time and thought I would see how you and your daughter are faring." Lusk removed his hat as she invited him in, the faint smell of lavender in the air around her.

"She's recovering remarkably, thank you for checking in on us Mr. Lusk. Would you like to take me up on that offer of tea now? One of my elder daughters Margaret and her son are here too."

"I think you could twist my arm over it." He joked, following her into the drawing room where a girl looking not much older than Lavinia sat, an excitable young boy restrained in her lap as he played with wooden blocks on a table.

"Margaret, this is Mr. Lusk, the man who rescued Lavinia."

"Oh, I've heard about you!" she smiled, placing her son aside on the seat so she could rise and greet him, sitting as her mother and their guest also took a seat.

"Mr. Lusk is the chairman of the Vigilance Committee, we owe him and his men a great thanks."

"Oh yes! Not just for Lavinia, but goodness knows how much those men could have cleared off with if they'd gotten away."

"It's what we are there for. Both business and innocent people do not deserve to fear their livelihood in Whitechapel. The Ripper may have drifted away but there has always been a vile crime that the police cannot control on their own."

"There's always someone every week talking about seeing a drunk policeman." Mrs. Mountford said, a look of disapproval on her features. "Frank has always been inwardly praising of them although you'd never catch him gushing to their faces. Sarah, dear?" she caught the maid's attention as she walked past the door. "Tea for three of us, and some fruit juice for Timothy."

The maid nodded and disappearedvalthough George's eyes remained on the doorway for a moment, aware of how very young their domestic looked and yet she seemed to carry all of the responsibilities of the house.

"Are you a policeman?" the little boy asked him, piling up blocks of wood on the table to form an archway.

"No, little one, I'm not." He smiled, used to the inquisitive minds of young children.

"But mother said you saved my auntie and stopped bad men."

"Well that I did do, but I'm not in the police. I'm just a man who tries to help other people."

"I think that's a good way to be."

"Wise words, I think." He smiled up from the boy to his mother, who petted her curly blonde hair down a little. "You look to be building a sturdy little arch there. Perhaps you'll use that wise mind to be a fine architect one day."

"I made a tower as tall as me once!" Timothy exclaimed, throwing his hands up to the sky.

"He's much like his father. Always aiming high." Margaret smiled, looking up as the maid entered with a tea tray. Her son excitedly reached out for his own drink and was busied with that, eyeing up the biscuits on the tray with keen and large eyes. George thanked the maid and insisted on pouring tea for the other women out of gentlemanly habit.

"I wondered, Mrs. Mountford, if your husband has considered the offer I gave you yesterday." He asked, allowing the tea to cool a little.

"I haven't had a chance to talk to him about it, I'm afraid. He was home for dinner, but I don't allow business talk at dinner. Then he was off in his study and then to bed. I will try again tonight."

"He won't see Vinnie either." Margaret said with pursed lips. She looked less like her mother and sister, but had the same pout as them. "I think it's some kind of midlife crisis."

"Well whatever it is, it won't last forever. I hope you won't mind if it takes a little while for him to take you up on the offer."

"Not at all, Mrs. Mountford. Good nature is not time-sensitive." He smiled at her, taking a sip of the tea but found it still too hot. George had always preferred his tea almost luke-warm, which Susannah could never understand. Mrs. Mountford seemed to be downplaying the concern her husband's apathy caused her, but then with her own child and grandchild present that was to be expected.

"You are far too kind, Mr. Lusk. Forgive my assumptions but we did not expect to meet many personally nice people in such a busy and populated city as London."

"Whitechapel has its history and charm, and there are plenty of us who've lived in the borough all our lives. You learn to love the place and the people in it. There's more kindness out there than the newspapers would suggest. Have the police contacted you with any progress on the case?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Frank said he'd be paying them a visit today before work so he may have some updates."

"If you do not hear anything soon, let me know. I would be happy to pursue it for you, as the coppers can be disorganised with it all."

"I appreciate the offer, Mr. Lusk." Marie smiled, and her eyes moved to the doorway as a figure blocked it. "Lavinia! I thought you were sleeping."

"I was starting to get restless so I thought I might sit in the garden for a bit if Victor was out there, but he isn't. May I sit in with you?"

"Of course, dear. Mr. Lusk has visited and was asking about you."

"Hello again!" she said, perking up a bit at a new face. Lusk imagined that seeing the same faces while bed-bound became unpleasant after a while. She wore a simple white day dress without a corset, but rather laced loosely around what was probably still a very sore abdomen, judging from the blood she'd been covered in when he saw her at the station days before. Her face had healed remarkable well, though, considering she was injured on a Monday morning and it was now Wednesday. Her eye was no longer forced shut by a swollen cheek and the scab was much smaller, the angry redness around it subdued into a fading purple. She padded barefoot over to them and sat next to her mother, brushing hair from her face.

"Darling, I told you to plait your hair if you leave your room."

"It's too much work." The girl complained quietly, and George could see why. Her hair was thick, and now that he saw it completely untied it did look very long – well past her shoulder blades.

"Well you're in company dear, so why don't you go and ask Sarah to help?"

"It's really alright, Mrs. Mountford. I am not a man concerned with social rules when applied to an injured girl." He felt a little guilty that she was being scolded, and hoped his comment would diffuse the situation.

"You were right Auntie, he's not a policeman." Little Timothy pointed out, pulling the cup of juice from his mouth. Lavinia smiled at her nephew and nodded before looking up at their guest.

"News of your heroics has travelled fast in our house, Mr. Lusk. Tim has been as eager to hear stories of your committee's triumphs over crime as I am. You did say you would tell me some time."

"Oh, I did didn't I?" he laughed, hoping she understood his regret was sarcastic, and he really took no issue in talking about the committee. "What would you like to know?"

"What's the most dangerous person you've ever caught?" she leaned forward with her elbows in her lap, blinking a few times as a twinge of discomfort hit the injured side of her face. Her mother began pouring her a cup of tea, but both Lavinia and her little nephew were transfixed by the story their guest began to tell.

"Well, there was one man who'd been stealing washing from people's clothes lines in the night-"

"That's not dangerous!" Timothy interjected with outrage on his face. George held a finger up to beg pause.

"It didn't sound so to us either, but locals were upset at the loss of clothes and so we had a few men wander around. Sure enough, the fool was in a garden that night and three of our blokes all tried to catch him. He managed to strangle all three of them with some poor woman's bloomers until they fell unconscious. Never in my life have I encountered a man who could fight off and incapacitate three men on his own. As strange a weapon as he wielded, he had a dangerous kind of luck on his side." He grinned as he saw the young boy laughing at the thought of a man wielding bloomers, and Lavinia seemed to be suppressing a giggle herself. Marie had had a look of concern on her face regarding discussion of vile crimes, but that expression faded to an amused smile as she realised her guest knew better than that.

"How did any of your men admit to being taken out like that?!" Lavinia laughed, covering her mouth a little bit. "No one with knives or guns were as dangerous?"

"Vinnie, I don't think Mr. Lusk would want to sit and talk about such things in the company of ladies." Marie warned her softly, sliding the fresh cup of tea towards her daughter. "And anyway, Mr. Lusk is not just a chairman of the Vigilance Committee. You work as a builder too, don't you?"

"Most days, yes. It depends on who needs work done; some of it is very fun and some very difficult. That's the way work is though." George smiled at the young boy who was drinking his juice again. "Perhaps another time I can tell you of the committee, Miss Mountford. I'd hate to speak of violent men in front of a girl recently injured by such people."

"It doesn't bother me. I find it fascinating how you risk yourselves. The police too. Men who put their lives on the line even a little, and put all that effort into stopping bad men. You deserve to be able to brag about all the gun and knife-wielding fiends you overpowered and outsmarted."

"You flatter me, Miss. I think my men would enjoy knowing they are thought of in such a way too." He bit his lower lip so as not to smile too wide and seem pompous, watching the girl take a sip of her tea and react in annoyance to how hot it was. She added more milk herself, leaving it to sit.

"Can't you at least tell us one story? How does the committee achieve so much when you don't have money like the police? You patrolled so far during the Ripper murders."

As George Lusk tried to work out a way to speak of the sort of crimes he'd seen in a way suitable for present company, Marie glanced from the man to her younger daughter, watching her brush an insistent strand of long hair from her face as she listened intently. There was a sparkle in her eyes; a brightness that radiated out into the rest of her face even with the sore bruise still taking over part of it. Rarely did Marie see her daughter so lit-up, and she could take an educated assumption as to its cause.

"Margaret, would you help me in the kitchen? I want to speak with Sarah about the menu for our Sunday dinner when the rest of the family arrive. Timothy can contribute too; he won't be the only little one there." Rising, and regarding her guest with a smile, she added "I hope you won't mind, Mr. Lusk, but I'm sure Lavinia will keep you entertained."

Sensing there was a reason for their departure, Margaret did not object and lifted her son to sweep out of the room, bidding Mr. Lusk a polite goodbye to leave the two alone. George had guessed their motives too, of course. Meddling mothers were not uncommon in any social class. Lavinia did not seem to notice (or perhaps she simply didn't care), sitting up a little and clapping her hands together in her lap. George noticed that brightness in her eyes now; completely different from the dull, fearful look she'd had in the police station or the tired and sore look she'd worn in her bed after the attack. Now she was bright and happy and, whilst not typically feminine with her loose dress, untied hair and strong jaw, she was in her own way quite pretty; George would never have said otherwise but it was far clearer now. She smiled and leaned forward a little bit, another question on the tip of her tongue.

"Now tell me, how many men have you encountered with guns?!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Things are starting to get a bit darker! They will progress and I hope the story is still entertaining to people. I'm working on notes/a plan for the rest of the story and hopefully I can keep it going. Also, for my U.S. readers, don't fear as Ripper Street Series 2 starts on December 1st in the USA so you've only got a month to wait :) Anyway, enjoy! As always reviews are welcomed as is constructive criticism/suggestions.**

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It was late evening by the time a draft had been created that Reid was happy with, and he took no issue with forcing Fred Best to remain at work late to make sure the article was front page news. It was, after all, a fantastic story. A nutter copying old myths with spiders. Best couldn't resist.

Drake had been sent to deliver the writings and 'convince' Best to follow instructions, and was instructed to head home afterwards. Jackson had also wandered home to his wife, while Reid claimed to be staying back at Leman Street to look over a few things. Both of his associates knew that was not the case.

It was a quiet night for most of them with no interruptions or concerns. Reid assumed that Lusk would be out on the streets in the early morning, patrolling for another murder. They'd get to work before the newspaper was out, and wait for any reactions.

Elsewhere the next morning, Marie Mountford was disturbed from her breakfast by an early caller although it did not in any way annoy her. She rose earlier than any of her family and enjoyed having any other sort of company. Allowing Sarah to continue with a basket of washing, Marie stood up and swept out into the hallway, opening the door a crack to reveal a rather haggard man, his face dirty but eyes a bright blue.

"Good morning, ma'am. My…my name's David Leagues. I wondered if I might speak to you briefly. Only, you gave me one pound the other day, outside the station house."

"Oh…" Marie paused, trying to remember his face. "How did you-"

"I asked in the station for your name as you'd just come out, and then found out your family owns a business, so I eventually found my way here. I don't come here to beg or anything ma'am, please don't worry." He held his hands up, a flatcap clenched in one. "I just…one pound is a lot to give to a beggar and it don't sit well with me to take that much for nothin'. Pennies is one thing but you gave me far more. I would like to repay a least some of that debt to you, lady."

"Oh my dear, you don't need to. Charity requires no repayment."

"But all that money shouldn't be charity, not for a simple beggar. Please ma'am, let me do some work. Surely there is some heavy lifting, or some cleaning or some garden work you need done? I don't mind work that's difficult or filthy, me. Just let me repay you some of it so I don't feel I've taken so much money from your pockets. Please, ma'am. I could never give my wife all this money for food and clothes and say it was all charity, but I couldn't lie to her either."

He looked so genuine and desperate, that Marie didn't think she could say no again.

"My husband would be the one deciding on such a thing but if you're willing to do work for free I don't see him saying no. You'd best come around the back into the kitchen, our domestic will let you through and make you some tea. The mornings are very cold." She smiled and pointed to the gate that led to their back garden, letting him go before shutting the door. As she headed back into the dining room she instructed Sarah to let the man in and make him some tea so he could wait until Mr. Mountford got up.

After an hour or so, Frank had been into the kitchen and heard for the first time that his wife had given £1 to a beggar. Well, he wasn't going to let the bugger leave without doing some work, so he quickly sent the man out into the garden. Victor was out of work right now and this meant the garden could be finished without having to hire someone else. So, the man was to dig holes in the garden and plant trees, and if he finished before evening, Frank made sure there was a list of other things that needed doing. He did not comment on the charity his wife had committed, and left for work in silence.

The paper arrived not long after, and Lavinia was the first to snatch it up for reading as her brothers were still faffing about upstairs. She scurried off into the conservatory in her nightdress and gown to read alone in one of the large padded wicker chairs, occasionally glancing up at the man who was working in the garden. She assumed he was a temporary replacement for their normal gardener, who'd hurt his arm badly trimming the large trees that hung over into their garden. Poor man was hurt and didn't even have an income now.

To be fair, this new man seemed even worse off and was filthy before he'd even started to work. Disregarding him, she looked down to the newspaper and caught the headline, freezing.

* * *

"There's not a soul in yet with information." Drake sighed as he hung his coat up, the floor below them eerily silent. Reid had noticed the same, and was becoming more and more frustrated.

"Anyone who knows of this man would probably be too scared to say anything."

"So we just have to hope he takes the bait."

"I think we threatened his ego enough to draw him out of the woodwork. Let us just hope he aims squarely at us and not another shop."

"I can see us being his main targets at this rate, sir." Bennet grumbled, exhaling hard through his nose. "Do you think he'll write letters?"

"I think many will write letters, if we draw from past experience. Many will enjoy pretending to be a feared criminal."

"So how will we weed him out?"

"He won't write a letter, Drake." Jackson was in the doorway, smoking and looking as nonchalant as usual as he strode forward. "Too boring. He'll do something big; something we're supposed to notice. Something ridiculous and over the top."

"And what if he excels at blending in aside from this spider-based calling card?"

"He stopped being able to blend in the moment his gang outed the whole enterprise. He's in the public eye now and there's no way he's gonna just try to slink back into the darkness. There's no way he can."

"As much as I hate to admit it, Jackson is probably right. Mad men don't write letters; they write messages in blood on walls." Drake commented, propping himself up against the back of a chair. "Anger poisons the rational part of a man's mind."

There was a heavy thud as someone raced up the stairs, and a constable made his way through the door to face the men.

"Sir! Reports of more murders; many at once per'aps." The lad puffed, blinking hard. "Shopkeepers and their families murdered."

"Where?" Reid was already throwing his coat on, Drake following.

"Shop on high street, one on Whitechapel road and one on Bishopsgate street."

"We go to high street first. Send constables to the other two to gather information and witness statements." Reid ordered, and the constable disappeared down the stairs to pass the orders on.

"There's our response, then." Jackson mumbled, putting his cigarette out in an empty glass.

"Prepare for backlash." The Inspector snapped over his shoulder, pressing his bowler hat to his head and throwing the door open to head out.


	16. Chapter 16

A great deal of voices melded with each other, some talking and some shouting, as many clutched the morning's newspaper in their hand. Some wore aprons, some gloves. There were goggle marks on faces and hammers hanging from belts. The working men of Whitechapel had gathered in outrage, many having dug out their previously retired iconic blue armband.

"We have lost three of our fellows along with others this morning." Bellowed the now equally well-known voice of George Lusk, who stood gripping his beating stick hard atop a makeshift stage of crates. "Three hardworking businessmen _and_ their families, struck down by gunmen who still somehow manage to evade the police."

A roar of anger followed this statement and George paused to catch his breath. He was shaking; livid from the moment he'd heard the news. A total of eight people had been killed. Men at work, and their wives and children at home.

"No longer will we remain a benign and retired patrol!" Lusk spat, her upper lip visibly quivering with the effort of restraint. "When men cannot to go work without fearing for their safety…when they cannot be sure their wives and children will not be slaughtered in their homes, no good man can remain stood down. If the coppers cannot find a culprit after so many lost lives then we will step up also."

Another roar, this time in agreement. Fists and beating sticks wee thrust into the air, lungs straining with the effort to voice their passion.

"At this rate no one will want to work, and no one will want to buy. Business will suffer and so will our families. We face death by murder or starvation if we do not stop this." More roars, and even though George knew that last statement was a dramatic assumption, he knew it could be true eventually. People in Whitechapel had starved before. Now no one would want to open their shop if they feared they'd be killed, and no one would dare go near shops if they feared being caught in the crossfire.

"From this moment on, the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee becomes official again and we patrol as we did before. We exact justice upon any we find guilty, otherwise they'll sit safe and happy in the cells of Leman Street like the rest of them." He was spitting again, the muscles in his legs shaking violently with the energy slowly building up. A round of applause followed him and their leader stepped down from the stage, talking to someone nearby who had come from Leman street.

George Lusk was a man out for blood, and in his mind no man of law or crime could stop him.

* * *

The dead room was overflowing with corpses, and Jackson would not admit it but he was glad some were children so he could fit them all onto one stretcher.

Drake had joined the numbers of men keeping angry civilians from the doorway of the station house, while Reid anxiously watched his American perform the second autopsy.

"No spiders in here either. Just a shot to the head." Jackson concluded, standing up to stretch his back. "Just from the look of these bodies, they were killed by different people with different weapons. Some aimed for the head with one clean shot, some turned the torso into swiss cheese. We're dealing with a lot of killers."

This was Silk's response. This was his reaction to the article, which had brought results in a way that Reid did not want. He had anticipated the chances of a reaction that harmed others, but not on this scale.

"He is showing us his numbers and his strength." Reid concluded, looking over to the stretcher with several children's bodies on. His stomach tensed and seemed to collapse inwards as he looked at their shapes. "And the ruthlessness of both he and his men."

"The article offended him; bruised his ego. He's got to show us we were wrong and that he's the big man." Jackson draped a sheet over the body and moved onto the third. This man had been shot in the leg twice before again in the neck. The wound was similar to the shopkeeper from before, and the leg was eerily similar of the Theo boy.

"I think this is the guy in Theo Stanley's group. Shot at close range with a shotgun, and also hit in the leg."

"Do you think the man tried to run?"

"Maybe, but two shots are pretty unnecessary. The bones are shattered; completely destroyed. He'd have needed to reload too. That would've taken more time than with the other killings where they just shot and ran."

"You think this significant?"

"I think this Silk fella wants to show us just how vicious his men can be. Killing women and children, and destroying parts of an already dying man just for the sake of it. He'd showing off his men to us."

"Men who have been running around his borough for longer than we may have known. Only now we have pushed them to escalate from robbery to murder."

"Sir!" Drake's voice, tinged with concern that he was trying to hide in the face of violence, came echoing through the halls as he ran to the mortuary. "This trouble can't be fought off, and now the vigilance men are back. They need talkin' down."

"If that man Lusk dares to interfere once more I shall have him on a slab before the week is out." Roared the inspector, shoving past Drake and heading out to the station doors.

Reid's blood began to boil as he spotted a familiar face in the crowd, although for once he looked less smug and more along the lines of furious. Finally he and Reid had something in common.

"Lusk, you and your men will leave here this instance." Trying with every ounce of energy to restrain himself, Reid gave the man an order.

"I promise you we will be gone soon, Inspector. We intend to protect those you've failed and stop any more deaths, while you hide away in your station. But these good people; these civilian people who live and work in our borough deserve an explanation from you. If they rally here to ask for it, I shall rally with them until they receive it." Lusk stepped forward to the front of the crowd, holding his hands out. His cheeks and forehead were flush with blood and he gripped that damn stick of his tight through leather gloves.

"You will do no such thing, Lusk, or you will see yourself on the wrong side of the law. You are a vigilante, and nothing more. You have no right and no power to get involved."

"And just because someone gave you the rights and powers doesn't mean you're still capable. H-division is strugglin', Inspector. Any fool can see that. And look how many are dead because of it. If you want any hope in finding this man, then you'll want every willing man on the street you can get. I provide those willing men."

"I will want nothing to do with the riled-up dogs you dress in hats and armbands and parade on the streets, Lusk. You and your men will leave _now_ or I'll have you arrested."

"I stand a safe distance from your station, Inspector. I incite no violence and break no law."

"You are a vigilante, Lusk. I will arrest you for interfering in an investigation. I should have arrested you already for such." Reid advanced on the man, and in a flash grabbed Lusk by the upper arm. The other man snarled and ripped his arm free, holding his beating stick up.

"Don't you touch me copper."

"Then leave." Drake said from the doorway, surprised it had not been him called upon to grab the chairman.

"Once you tell these people what they have to fear." Lusk insisted, fists clenched even tighter now as he stepped forward with heavy feet. It honestly looked like he was ready to throw a punch at Reid, and Drake was very much prepared to swing into action should such a thing occur.

"We are still investigating these recent attacks and the public will know our conclusions as soon as possible." He spoke loud enough for the whole crowd to hear, although kept his eyes on Lusk.

"You know who it is. You know it's the Silk fella you wrote about."

"We will confirm it when we have proof." Reid kept his cool and stared Lusk down, who was inches away from squaring up with the taller man now. "Now leave, all of you, or my men shall force you away."

"You shall have to face the people yourself one day, Reid. People will not be calmed by broad statements forever." Lusk hissed, rocking on his heel before backing away. With one last glare directed at Drake, Lusk turned and marched away with a slew of men following, the rest of the crowd slowly dispersing in their own direction.


	17. Chapter 17

**I've tried to keep this story-centric with a convenient re-cap of the developments so far since I know this is getting quite drawn out and complicated hah. Fair warning the next chapter will be long and contain a lot of character development per Lavinia, Lusk and to a lesser degree Drake and Bella, I hope not too many people will be put of by that but I do want to develop the story more with both canon characters and my little original one. There will still be plenty of story-relevant stuff happening in it too. It'll be a long one, so may take a few days to perfect. I will have a Drella chapter (or two) up during that time though! So I hope you enjoy what I have so far and thank you from the bottom of my heart to AnotherKim for your continued reviews and support. If you have any drabble/fic requests of certain Ripper Street characters you are more than welcome to inbox me with them as I'd love to write something at your request. Thank you to everyone else viewing and reading too, I see you in the traffic graphs! ;) Enjoy x**

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Reid had been desperately trying to take an hour to himself to get his mind around everything. He felt like he knew and understood these things before him, but it just wasn't sinking in and for the first time in a while he was drawing a blank on where do go next. The one step he'd been confident in had not gotten them any closer to finding this man 'Silk'. He was truly hidden away and it twisted Edmund's very innards into knots that would snap at the slightest further turn to think how long this man may have been operating under his nose. A tiny voice in him whispered the word 'ripper' but it was quickly silenced by the much louder rational voice that spoke more often.

Over the weeks Reid had developed a stereotypy; a repetitive coping mechanism to relieve his building frustration. He tapped his pen in specific patterns and when he stood up to stretch his legs he would always walk the same length of the upper floor, like a lion pacing inside London Zoo. The only time he left the station these days was either to investigate crimes or change his clothes at home. The house was dark and silent now, and it pained Edmund more and more each time he stepped in there. It was his fault; he'd driven Emily too far and ruined what had once been a very warm and loving family. He blamed himself for Mathilda's death and he blamed himself for Emily's mortification at his actions. He'd placed lust and physicality over anything else, and ruined it all. There was no escaping it, and if anyone of a better moral standing than Edmund wanted to remind him of that, he would be the first to explain how every waking moment that not focused on police work was instead resting on regret and the life he'd once had.

In some odd way, serious crimes were the best thing for Reid. They kept his mind busy; kept the cogs turning and the rust away.

Nothing had been taken from the shops in these last three attacks – the aim had been to murder and make a point. He had pushed the young boy Theo to admit to the robberies he'd taken part in and name some of the men in his group. The gunman's name had not been divulged to him (or so he claimed), but Reid could now check up on the names and find prior issues. Some of the men had been arrested at previous robberies but released with a fine.

So far, all they knew was that a man going by the pseudonym 'Silk' held the strings of an organised crime operation, likely offering money to poor or unemployed men in exchange for their work. Men tempted by crime and then told they didn't have to work at selling off their stolen goods would jump at the chance. Up until now, the robberies had been perfectly spaced out so that the patterns did not emerge, but now Reid knew that certain amounts of money (or items worth a certain amount) were taken. Silk knew about these shops and what bracket of money they could produce. He was a businessman himself of sorts, and was probably viewed as a legitimate businessman out on the streets. Lord, he could even be part of Lusk's vigilance committee as a cover. Silk could have been standing feet away from him this morning and Reid would not have known it.

Now these murders were a reaction to a mistake. One man in the gang had tripped, he'd threatened a woman, taken too long and allowed himself to be caught. The problem was, they weren't arrested for petty robbery but instead for assumed murder, and the trauma of that led to those precious first confessions. Reid couldn't understand why things had progressed to actual murder before knowledge of this man's operations had become pubic in the newspaper. The man stuffed with spiders before death seemed totally unprovoked – at that point how did Silk know the police had any knowledge of him? Jackson's mention of the man's theatrical insanity resurfaced and Reid wondered if Silk had wanted to be known about by that point. Then again, perhaps a great deal of businessmen owed the livelihood of their shops to this man and were now paying the price a loan shark like such would demand.

Where did they go now? How did they get a hold of this man in a way that didn't harm more innocent people and rile the public up against the police force even more?

He had his head in one hand as frustration bubbled in his muscles, burning them thin with ache and anxiety. They were so tense that when he was called from the doorway, he flinched. Drake was already among a group of men listening to someone speak downstairs as Reid made his way down.

"What is it? What's going on?" Reid demanded, following the young officer who'd requested his presence.

"Miss Mountford is here, sir. Something worth getting out of her sickbed for, it seems." Drake had a lopsided frown etched into his features as he held out a box half wrapped in thick brown package paper. Reid lifted the box up out of its wrapping, finding it to be made of glass. Inside was a spider, apparently dead. The box was entirely sealed and the creature didn't move when its tomb as shaken about.

"You were delivered this?" Reid asked the girl, who was escorted by a man of such similar appearance that he had to be her brother. He stood close, physically preventing anyone in the station from approaching too close to her. Drake could see her face was still bruised, although had healed remarkably in the last few days.

"In the afternoon post, yes. It was addressed to me. After what's happened this morning…surely it is not just I, but my whole family in danger?"

"I think we should discuss this in private." Reid offered her entrance into an office, but neither Lavinia nor her escort moved.

"Look at the bottom of the box, something is etched into the glass. There's nothing to discuss; we're in danger." She insisted in that difficult tone her mother had spoken of during their interview.

Reid lifted the glass box and turned it at various angles until he could find the neat little scratches on the glass. Drake leaned in also, squinting to read.

'_Little Miss Lavinia: the last one, not long for this world, gone before Friday!_'

"Please, I'm begging you to stop this man."

"We will dispatch men to keep you safe in your home, Miss-"

"No. You should keep your boys out on the beat trying to find this murderer!" she was shaking her head violently, trying not to twist her waist where a wound still healed. Her brother stepped forward and spoke for her now.

"The vigilance men have offered protection. They may not be above the law but they have the numbers to protect us and others in the streets. I beg that you find the man, or men, committing these murders. I am no fool; the vigilance men have a great flaw in them and their leader is a rabid dog right now, but I am also well versed in the troubles you face." The man raised a finger, pointing it at Reid. "You don't have the funds to afford the men you need as it is. Don't lose even more men by standing them at the door to our home. You take this package as evidence of a threat, you find this man and you string him up good and proper. But to do that you need your men, do you not?"

Reid paused, his face completely relaxed and eyes half-lidded as he let those words sink in. It was a relief for someone to sympathise with the plight of H-division, even if the delivery was not terribly polite.

"We do, sir. I will send an officer we can spare in the evening once we have allocated resources, only because if an attack does happen I want an actual man of the law there to give a lawful arrest, rather than allow Lusk to beat and manhandle whoever he wants. You should return home now, and word will be sent when we know something."

"You didn't tell us when you first found out who was behind this. I had to find out in the papers." Lavinia interjected, her brother placing an arm around her shoulders to try and lead her out. Reid was silent at that, unwilling to admit it had been an attempt to gain Silk's attention. Because then he'd have to admit it had backfired and caused all those deaths. Drake had to step in and speak instead.

"Apologies, Miss, but we had our reasons. You shall be kept informed on such an issue as this though." The Sergeant tipped his head to them both as her escort finally managed to lead her away. He noticed she limped slightly, and remembered how violently she had thrown herself from that slab after waking. She might have twisted the limb during her fall in the shop or from that waking in the dead room and the subsequent fighting she'd done to get away from them. Drake wondered with a tight chest if she realised how truly lucky she was to have survived while a total of nine (real) dead bodies were left behind by the same man behind her robbery and attack.

"Sir?" Drake found his superior to still be silent, his face unnervingly expressionless. Bennet was no fool and he knew the Inspector did not feel nothing over a case as frustrating as this. It was almost as if he'd become so frustrated and angry that he could no longer express it. The last time Drake had been like that - numb from fury that burned so hot it felt closer to ice - he'd beaten a man so badly that he'd died a few days later. Luckily, the man was a criminal of such foul breed that no one would ever have questioned the severity of his attack on the man; not even Drake himself. Sometimes two wrongs do make a right, after all.

"I find Lusk's continued involvement in this to be a thorn in my side, I'm sure you realise this Bennet. But his constant presence…"

"It would be very convenient for him to be trusted by the Mountfords if he were somehow involved." Drake admitted now. He had struggled to suspect the man as quickly as Reid had, but it was becoming too difficult to push aside now.

"Everything so far has been incredibly convenient for the man. If there really is to be an attack on this family tonight I want you there, watching both the girl and Lusk. If he has any sort of connection or knowledge – even the slightest hint – I won't hesitate to grind him down to a pulp so that we may wring out one single drop of information."

"Understood, sir. Do you want me there now?"

"Give it an hour or two, I would like your input on further plans. I refuse to sit and wait for this man, Silk, to continue attacks until he trips and we find him. We must continue to be proactive."

Bennet was pleased to see the Inspector not yet shot down, and that their last action, although not yielding the best results, hadn't led to him giving up. At least, not yet…


	18. Chapter 18

**Alrighty! So as I said, this is a long chapter, and focuses on character development more than anything. I won't have anything against people wanting to skip it if that isn't your cup of tea, but I did want to develop Lavinia, Lusk and a wee bit of Drake too. The story will move faster from now on though, I promise! I have been a wee bit stuck on my Drella drabbles hence the delay. I hope you enjoy this chapter though, and as always reviews are very much appreciated and encouraging!**

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"My men and I shall stand watch at every bedroom door, swapping in the early hours with others so we can all stay well-rested and fresh. Nothing will happen in this house without us knowing and acting on it, Mrs. Mountford. You've even got that gardener man of yours standing guard outside should he see anything. Everyone is here to help." George Lusk sat opposite the distressed older woman, bent forward in an effort to seem more informal and comforting. The lady of the house clutched a handkerchief in her hands, pale with worry.

"I don't know how to thank you for all of this, Mr. Lusk. You're putting so much effort and so many men into protecting just one family."

"Please ma'am, remember; George." He smiled, hoping to elicit one back from her. "And I would put a hundred men in if it meant we could protect innocent people and potentially catch someone involved in these killings."

"I just hope Frank makes it home safe…and he will be reluctant to accept help, I'm sure you know."

"Of course, a man's pride can be strong, but I'm sure he knows the safety of his family is more important."

The woman gave a lacklustre 'mmmh', eyes to the floor as she lifted the handkerchief to wipe her cheeks dry.

Evening had begun to set in now, and the smell of dinner was slowly filling the lower floor of the house. Poor Sarah was making enough to feed the vigilance men here now, and even had one standing with her by the door to the garden. Lusk would have asked the Mountford's not to go to the trouble but there was no arguing with a woman like Mrs. Mountford. She'd raised enough children to have developed a steely reserve when it came to making something happen. And so the vigilance men were to stay for dinner as a gesture of thanks for their presence in the first place.

At dinner Lavinia, the most vulnerable and most targeted of the family, ate quietly and played with her napkin, folding it into various shapes until it was wrinkled excessively and her mother had to remind her of her manners. She seemed unnerved despite the number of men here to protect her. Her mother inwardly wondered if the number of strangers was unnerving her; parties had always made the girl nervous because she didn't know enough people, and now she was again stuck among a group of people most of whom she did not know.

That seemed more likely, as the girl asked if she could be excused the moment her meal was finished. She was allowed, but a vigilance man went up after her to sit on a chair by her door should anything happen inside. The rest of her family stayed and attempted to have as relaxed a Thursday night as possible. Even Mr. Mountford was keeping up appearances and remained in the drawing room until retiring to bed. The children were sent up as well, and Marie ensured that Sarah had left food and drinks out for the men before she also headed upstairs.

Lavinia was checked on by her mother, and found to be fine. The fellow stayed stationed outside of her room while Lusk was further down the hallway covering the room of Mr. and Mr. Mountford along with two of the children's rooms that were to his left and opposite at the end of the hall.

Come eleven pm, the house had settled down and aside from a few reading lights, everyone was tucked in, leaving a dim silence in the air. The fellow outside of Lavinia's door was reading a bible, keeping his mind focused but without engrossing himself too much. After a few minutes he took a break to rest his eyes, rubbing them and blinking a few times.

All of a sudden there was a great thud in the room behind him and he leapt, the small bible thrown from his lap as he ripped open the door. Lusk and another man in the hallway rushed down too, just in case they were needed.

They did not find an intruder in the room, but rather Lavinia Mountford stood in the middle of her room. Her bedroom window was wide open and she'd dropped a small wooden jewellery box onto the empty floor before her.

"I was walking around for over thirty seconds. I opened the window and walked towards my bed without anyone hearing. The only way I'm safe is if whoever comes to attack me has a fatal dose of clumsiness." She said with a frown, bending in her thick night gown to pick up the box and place it back on her dresser. One of the men rushed in to close her window, making sure it clicked and locked in place.

"Miss Mountford, I assure you an intruder wouldn't be stepping as lightly as you-"

"I don't feel safe." She said, more of an expression of emotion than a demand upon them. The men looked among themselves and Lusk sighed, waving them off.

"Take my place at the end of the hallway, I will have a talk with her but for now we'll swap places." He told one of the men, and they both left the room with the door closing behind them. George turned to young Lavinia as she remained stood at the centre of her room.

"What would you like us to do so that you are safe? They won't get the window open as easily as you did, it's locked from the outside."

"They could pick it."

"I don't think-"

"I've done so three times since we moved into this house. If a girl clinging to a windowsill can do it, men experienced with intrusions could find it easily."

"You…" he furrowed his brow realising she was admitting to sneaking out, literally climbing up the outside of the house to get back in. Shaking his head, George recovered from the mild shock and continued. "Would you like someone to remain in the room to keep an eye on the window and yourself?" he tipped his head to the side now, imploring her to agree to such a resolution.

Lavinia didn't seem to need long to consider the idea, and It may have been what she'd wanted in the first place.

"You can smoke or read in here, I won't mind. I just don't feel safe if no one can see me." Her head bowed now and she seemed to regret acting out to make her point; she probably realised she could have just come out into the hallway and asked. Her embarrassment made George feel a little guilty for seeing her fears as burdens, and he stepped a little closer.

"I will bring a chair in and sit by the window, alright?"

"Thank you, Mr. Lusk." She smiled a little, going back to sit in her bed as he leaned out of the room to pick up the chair perched outside. When he returned and placed himself by the window about fifteen feet from the bed, she was already leaning over the candle closest to her bed. "Goodnight, Mr. Lusk. Thank you again."

"Goodnight, Miss Mountford." He smiled and she extinguished the candle, leaving just a few dim gas lamps to spill a warm, tolerable light into the room. It was enough to keep him awake and help him see everything, but not so bright that it would hurt one's eyes.

She laid back and turned so her back was to him, bed sheets pulled up to her shoulders so only a little head of pale brown hair was visible among everything white on her bed.

For an hour, there was only silence and occasional check-ins from others. The wind hit the windows behind him, rattling trees and slipping a whisper of a breeze through the space between the window and the pane. A light went out near the door, and George rose quietly to re-light it with the matches he kept in his own pocket. With them in his hand he remembered her mention of smoking, and he decided it would be helpful in keeping him awake.

Lavinia stirred and rolled over a little, eyes still closed. George stood still for a moment, fishing a cigarette from his jacket pocket. He lit it before slowly pacing past the foot of her bed back to his seat. She stirred again, and lifted her head seeming groggy.

"I told you a man's footsteps wouldn't be so light on this floor. Sorry to wake you." He joked, releasing a small plume of smoke from his mouth.

"I didn't really sleep. I can't calm my mind down." She sat up fully now, slumping over a bit with her hands in her lap.

"Are you afraid?"

"Yes." She admitted, sounding ashamed of it. "How did people do it when the ripper was about? How did people sleep knowing he was out there and had killed so recently?"

"Well if you were in bed at home you were likely safe. And sometimes you just _have_ to sleep. Many in Whitechapel survive. They work until the exhaustion outweighs the fear."

"I suppose I don't have a right to feel scared in a big house guarded by you while there were women at home during the day attacked yesterday."

"Don't attack yourself for their misfortune. It isn't your fault." George went to sit in the chair, watching her turn a little to face him rather than attempt to go back to sleep.

"You've seen a lot of awful things, haven't you Mr. Lusk? Worse than the things you told me."

"Yes, Miss." He nodded, letting the smoke billow from parted lips and inhaling it back in through his nose. "Things I wouldn't talk about with other men, let alone a young lady of society."

"How do you sleep, after having seen them? Do you just work until you're too tired?"

"I detatch. I try not to think of what I see as real people. Don't misunderstand – I still very much care about the loss of life and the individuals killed. But when I see it, I don't see them as a person. Doing so would break the soul too quickly. It is how surgeons work on their patients too. They view the body as a machine that needs fixing."

"Did you see me as a machine when you thought me dead?" she cocked her head, plait of hair falling over one shoulders.

"More like a doll. You were pale white and not a drop of blood on you."

"I think I prefer that to a machine." She laughed, watching him inhale from the cigarette again. She was chewing the inside her of lip, sinking her cheeks in even more than normal. He was about to suggest she try to sleep again and see if her mind clears, but she spoke before him.

"Would you like to play chess? I have my own board and I think it might help clear my thoughts."

"You know how to play?"

"My brothers taught the girls in the family. I think I'm quite good."

"You must be if you have your own board."

"Well it was handed down, but it's mine all the same. So what do you say to a game?" She gave him a look similar to that of a young dog before it had learned to beg. Just a simple, calm and expectant expression. George smiled to himself and eventually nodded, standing to lift his chair over to the small table in a corner of her room. She cleared a few books off it, and pulled it back towards her bed.

"I'm more comfortable sitting on the edge of my bed, I hope you don't mind."

"Better you fall asleep on your bed than in a chair." Lusk shrugged, and she sat on the side of her bed with the table in front of her. George placed his chair on the opposite side and watched her open up a wooden box which folded out to become a chess board. She handed him the darker pieces and they set their sides up quietly.

"Shall I go easy on you?" George asked with a smile, leaning forward and propping himself up on one knee with the palm of his hand.

"Please don't, I'd like at least a little bit of a challenge." The girl responded, grinning down at the board like a Cheshire cat.

Just thirty minutes later, after what George had to admit was a very testing game, he finally had Lavinia in check, and she pouted and frowned with the effort to work out her next move. He watched her hunched over again, those bright eyes darting about as if the answer would be in front of her. Her thick eyebrows were knitted together, but softened a bit wit reluctant realisation. There was no way she could win, and so she moved the King anywhere, allowing it to be taken. George leaned forward, knocking her king off and saying with a hint of smugness,

"Check mate. You played that very well, though. I mean, _very_ well. You've had good tutors in your brothers."

"They taught me the rules, the strategy is all mine. I always win against them. Or maybe they let me win." She shrugged, collecting up her pieces. George watched her lay them into the grooves at the side of the board to be stored and he felt it probably wasn't the best way to end the game.

"Best of three?" he passed her some of the pieces he'd taken, pulling his own back to his side to set them up before she could even answer.

"Alright. But I want to make it more fun. It makes each move seem more important."

"What do you mean?" it sounded like a more girly version of the game, simplified and prettied up for girls to find 'fun'.

"Well, Margaret and I played 'three or less' a lot. You write down secrets that only three or less people know about you. If you lose a game, the winner gets to read one of the secrets. We would write a handful out each and leave them as strips for one to be picked at random."

That definitely sounded like a game made for girls, and it wasn't exactly George's cup of tea. Still, she seemed excited now. She had that same bright look in her face as when she'd been able to ask him about his work in the committee, and since it was either play this game or sit in silence for the next many hours, George would choose the game. Plus, there was something incredibly endearing about the girl when she seemed excited and for some reason he felt compelled to nurture that rather than snuff it out.

"Alright, let's give it a try. So long as these secrets stay between you and I." he tapped his nose then pointed to her, smirking. She set the board up again and then slipped from the bed, fetching two sheets of paper and pencils (as she only had one pen). She decided (without his input) that they would write five secret facts although he doubted she could stay awake long enough to play five games. Still, he obliged and wracked his brain trying to think of some benign, unknown things about himself. Lavinia seemed to already have a bank of them and scribbled furiously, tearing five strips from her paper and folding them over a few times. Eventually George could do the same and they kept their own pile next to themselves, preparing for the next game.

She started with the advantage quite fast, but was getting impatient. The less time she spent thinking about a move, the more likely she was to trip. He had years of practice on his side and so didn't have to fight impatience or doubt and so he was set to win again. But then, between moves, George got to sit and watch this bright little lady wrack her brain and fidget about with excitement over it all. Gone was that quiet stare and admission of fear; now he sat opposite a pleasantly excited young woman keeping a fearful mind busy and distracted. And again George thought he would not want to spoil that for her.

He made a few subtly poor moves that, if she followed with the right ones, could lead to her winning. He spaced them out too, making a strategy of losing, almost. She eventually caught up and became more confident in her moves, grinning again like a cat as she had the chance to announce her victory.

"Check mate! We're tied now."

"You get to read one of mine, then?"

"Yes," she prolonged the 's', leaning over to pick one strip of paper from the pile. Her fingers were very slender and handled even a thin line of paper with utter care. Her eyes moved a little as she scanned the words written in messy chickenscratch, looking up then back down to the paper to read it aloud. "'_My hair has turned blonde with age.'_? You were dark haired before?" she looked back up to him, at the mousy hair on his head and slightly lighter bristles above his upper lip. It didn't seem like a very deep or personal secret.

"Bleached with work in the sun. It was black as night when I was born, but I moved out of Whitechapel to work in my teens. Most people know me as the lighter-haired adult I was when I came back."

"Surely your parents and wife would know at least?"

"They are all passed, so technically no one living knows." He shrugged, and then regretted that statement as she froze.

"All of them? As in your wife too? Oh Mr. Lusk, I went and mentioned her when you came to visit on the day of my attack, I'm so sorry, I didn't know-"

"It's been years now, and it was a release from suffering for her. You weren't to know." He held a hand up, smiling to let her know he was not upset. "Now, shall we have a tiebreaker?"

"It wouldn't be fair not to." The woman collected her pieces again, lifting her legs up onto the bed to sit on them.

After another long game, George won. He'd been scolded for trying to give her advice when she was stuck, and he admired her insistence to learn from her own mistakes. She played with her hair more during this match, and he wondered if it was a betrayal of how difficult she was finding the game. He thought it fair to no longer forfeit though, and so he played with his strengths and won eventually. Lavinia relinquished her little stash of secrets, allowing him to pick one as she stood up her king again, ready for another match.

She had very delicate handwriting, even with a pencil, and it seemed to mimic the thin, spidery fingers of her hands in its curls and dots and angles. The contents, however, was not as characteristic of the young woman of class before him.

"'_When I marry, my husband will not be-'_" George paused and furrowed his brow as he read the rest of it in his head, as if not daring to say the rest of the words aloud. Lavinia knew what the strip of paper said, and her eyes lowered to the floor.

"My husband will not be the first ne to see my bare body." She finished the sentence aloud, pursing her lips a little bit. "They stripped me naked in the police station before I was revived. At least three of those police officers saw me. It's probably the one thing about this whole situation that upsets me the most. These bruises and cuts will heal, they don't concern me. Having to sit and talk to men who've seen me like that does, though. They'll want to interview me and everything, soon, I suspect."

There was, in all honesty, a slight feeling of relief in George. He was concerned he was about to hear of some unnecessarily personal story of impurity on her part.

"I don't think anyone would blame you for that, though."

"I'm sorry if it's inappropriate to admit, but if I tell you it means more than three people know – since those officers would know of it too, in some capacity. So I don't have to admit it to my sister if we should ever play this game again."

"You'd rather admit it to a stranger than your sister?"

"Well, I'd rather she not know and spread it around. She gossips. I doubt you would do such a thing, and you are hardly a stranger at this point. I trust you more than my own sibling." She smiled a little, daring to look up at him. "Do you think it would disturb a husband to know?"

"I don't see how he would know anyway. It's not something you have to tell him, and it wasn't your choice or decision to show him such a thing. It wasn't your fault."

"I suppose you're right. It frustrates me that it wasn't my choice, though. I had hoped when I…show a man all of myself it would be with a person and at a time of my choosing. Control is a thing I experience very little of as it is." The girl shrugged, playing with the ends of her plait. She regretted writing that secret down now; ashamed by how embarrassingly forward an admittance it was and how wrong a subject that was to bring up with a man. George, on the other hand, was frankly baffled at how suddenly she seemed to have come out of her shell. He'd thought her a shy and scared little fawn and here she was admitting something she wouldn't dare admit to a blood relative of the same sex.

"It'll still be something you control at the time." He smiled, feeling as if he were consoling a child over a broken toy rather than a woman over her perceived loss of innocence. "Men aren't as demanding of perfection as some might lead you to think, Miss Mountford. Shall we play another game?"

"Yes, I think so." She smiled again, finishing up her end of the board. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment but the match kept her mind busy again. She seemed more determined to win now, and her moves were quicker but more calculated. Before he knew it, George was having to worry about losing without giving her any help at all. Even worse, she was yawning often through the whole game.

"Good lord." He muttered as she quite proudly knocked his king off and declared check mate.

"And I did it without you letting me win this time." She smirked, and George was taken aback. "There is no way you could have made the mistakes you did in our second match, I know you allowed me to win. But anyway, I get to read one of your secrets."

Lavinia picked up a piece of paper from his pile and unfolded it, scanning the words and once more taking a moment to decipher his handwriting. This one was more of a personal secret, and if she was not still somewhat embarrassed about her last one, she would have teased him more about this one.

"'_I favour my daughters over my sons'_! Goodness, really?"

"It's something I don't admit to much, but the girls just seem to have a better nature in them. All of my lads are good, but they're still lads. They drink and smoke and swear more than they should but meanwhile my daughters look after each other and make beds and cook and clean and laugh with me. They're better company." He shrugged as if it were not too much of an issue to favour certain children over others. "Many parents have favourites, they just won't admit to it. I think you are your mother's favourite." He added with a smile, and Lavinia crumpled the paper in her hands a little bit with a giddy smirk.

"You think so?"

"She dotes over you more than I've seen with any others."

"Well the others don't need as much extra nurturing as me. I was last in line for a lot of necessary features."

"I sincerely doubt that, Miss Mountford."

"You should call me Lavinia." Her eyes met his properly as she placed the paper down and smiled again, that flush in her cheeks not yet fully faded. She opened her mouth to say something else but there was a knock at the door that stopped her.

"Sir, there's a copper 'ere, been downstairs for a while and now wants to know where you are." One of the vigilance men poked his head around the door, too disgruntled to notice (or care) about the fact that the chairman was playing chess with the girl rather than just keeping watch over her. George stood up and gave the young woman a look of apology, to which she nodded in understanding and began packing away the chess board quietly. Lusk replaced his chair by the window and marched from the room, stopped in his tracks by Sergeant Drake as he forced his way into the room. There were no words exchanged between the men at first, and Lavinia quietly pushed the small piles of paper into her bedside drawer before scooting back into bed.

"Sergeant Drake, I thought-" she began, watching his stony face turn to regard her.

"Inspector Reid asks a man of the law be present should anything happen. Lusk, you should leave this room. She doesn't need watching like a child, I don't think."

"She asked to be watched, actually." The chairman sneered, switching from gentleman to snarling dog in an instant. "I'll remain as long as I am needed while there is a threat."

"No, I will. Leave before I make you, Lusk." The Sergeant's hand was near his hip, ready to retrieve his baton.

"Mr. Lusk can stay in here as long as I am under threat, Sergeant Drake. I will go wake my mother and ask her to explain the same thing if you'd like."

Drake turned to the girl again, noticing how her features had fallen as she sat up in bed. Her expression further developed into a glare that compelled Bennet to leave, tipping his hat.

"I will remain in the house should anything happen, Miss. Don't be afraid to-"

"Thank you, Sergeant." She cut him off, lifting her book and placing it out of the way on the bedside table. Drake blinked and then turned, leaving Lusk in front of the now closed door.

"You are far more persuasive than I first thought, Miss Mountford." He regressed to a grin, impressed.

"He and you do not get along, and he was ruining a pleasant evening. And I said to call me Lavinia, did I not?"

"Apologies." he shrugged a little bit and walked back to his seat, aware that she still had that stern tone in her voice. If such a skill were inherent in blood, she had probably attained it from her father. As his back was to her, he heard her opening a drawer and turned to find a handful of paper strips held out to him.

"I shan't keep these unread, but I do want to sleep shortly. Why don't you read out your last three, and I'll read my four? Quicker than playing seven more matches." She offered him a smile and her features softened immediately. George took them from her with just the slightest brushing of their hands, and sat back down in his chair at the window, thinking the distance a good idea now.

"You read one of mine last, so shall you reveal one of yours?" he suggested, fishing around for another cigarette in his pockets to calm his temper after the police's intrusion.

"I was an incredibly tall child, but stopped growing at fourteen." She read from the paper before looking up at him. "I'm five foot and ten inches, you know. Ridiculous when I was so young – I was as thin as a street lamp! But the rest of my body grew into it eventually."

"I thought you quite tall for a woman."

"English women are tiny, aren't they? My mother is polish, but born in England. It's where I get a lot of my features from.

"I had guessed that, you're very similar." George watched her straighten up, wriggling her toes under the bed sheets. "My turn now then?" he held up a little strip of paper and Lavinia nodded with her hands in her lap, her face bright again. She ignored the voices out in the hallway that clearly belonged to a vigilance man and Sergeant Drake and listened to Mr. Lusk instead.

After reading off the little list of secrets (with Lavinia still regretting the first one he'd read out), they talked for a short while longer before sleep began to claim the young girl, her fear having been pushed so far from her mind it could not find a way back in. Lusk sat slumped in his chair wondering when, if ever, an attack on the Mountford's might happen. The young girl in front of him was truly relaxed and calm now, but it was George who now felt a pang of worry for her safety. By the early hours she was fast asleep, and George fought off the same tired curtain that threatened to draw over him until someone came to relieve him of his watch. Drake was still out in the hallway, face like a bulldog sucking a lemon, and Lusk did not give him any polite parting words as he passed.

The Sergeant was not at all offended, and preferred to have as little contact with the man as possible. His mood was also poor enough without mixing more of George Lusk into the pot. Bella was not well and had been laid up in bed all day, which was enough to put him in a bad place. She could not keep food down and was sick at the sight, smell or thought of anything edible. Misery had hit her because of it, and Bennet wished he could be home taking care of her rather than watching over some odd little girl and her family because of some madman out there.

In the end, when a constable came to let Drake know that nothing had yet been seen in the streets, he was ordered to take the Sergeant's place. Bennet had stood here doing nothing for hours and was content he'd done his part. Now he would go home, sleep for a few hours and then care for Bella in the morning when she woke. As odd as it might sound to some, he'd rather be at home washing a bucket of vomit out and petting her hair back from a sweat drenched face than stood here in silent darkness. At least at home he could help Bella in some way. For once, he would just have to hope the vigilance men were as good as they touted themselves to be.


	19. Chapter 19

Smoke billowed up in dark clouds from lips framed by a dark beard that bore sparse bristles of grey among many of black. As the smoke faded a glass rose, filled deep with whiskey. After a swig of the brown liquid, the man sat back and replaced his cigar back between pale yellow teeth.

"You rarely come to me with news this displeasing, Joseph. I had thought you'd seek to rectify this situation before showing your face to me."

Exhaling another plume of smoke into his associate's face, Fiddle looked the burly man up and down with a slow blink. Silk remained still, his eyes meeting Fiddle's with submissive bravery.

"I wanted my next move to be approved by yourself, sir."

"Explain to me first, mate, how it came to be that you failed me this time." Fiddle leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table between them, waving his cigar around. His frowning gaze was focused on the table, motor skills impaired by the copious whiskey ingested since sundown.

"The police were still too numerous. Too many on the streets, too many in the station with the American and too many around the inspector and his sergeant."

"And so you could not reach them. What of the Mountfords, then? If you could not reach the coppers then you could reach the girl or someone else in the family." Fiddle's voice rose as he took another swig from his glass, eyeing Silk closely.

"She was guarded too. David notified me immediately, and we kept a watch on the situation."

"Guarded by who?" the drunk man hissed, cocking his head. "You said the police were in too great a number elsewhere."

"The Whitechapel Vigilance Committee, sir. Their Chairman has become greatly involved with the Mountfords. The mother even visited his home."

"So he's fucking one of the girl's mother and brings his little army in to protect them?"

"Yes, sir. Equally great in number."

"Then scatter the roaches, Silk." Leaning back again, Fiddle inhaled deep on his cigar and let the smoke fill his mouth, the taste seeping into his tongue. As he spoke it came out in one messy cloud. "Give the Sergeant and the American a tip card. I tire of the gulf between us and them. If I am revealed to them in some form it will be on my terms. How you decide to approach them is up to you."

"Shall I dispatch of the man Lusk?"

"Not yet. From what I know of him, he tangles the ropes that bind already bind Inspector Reid. He may unknowingly serve a purpose. If he is bedding the Mountford wife then his death should be a strategic one, anyway. Leave him alive and let him do as he pleases. Your focus should be on the actual coppers for now. Go, Silk. I have other engagements for tonight."

Fiddle waved the other man away, hanging his head and pouring another glass of whiskey. His hand shook and waved erratically and the bottle could not be tipped safely. Ever-loyal, Silk stood, took the bottle and filled up his employer's glass, nodding politely to him. Then, with stoic silence Silk lifted from the floor a large box by its sturdy leather handle and left the room.

Fiddle remained still for a moment, staring at his glass. Now that there were no voices to drown them out, the tiny little chitters and tappings that Fiddle surrounded himself with were audible. Tens of vivariums filled with arachnids lined the room where he did business and slept. The light of the fire behind him attracted some to their glass walls, tapping legs and pincers and tails against the surface. Light reflected off of damp webs in the corners of enclosures and several lay still in a state of shedding. Once they'd finished, Fiddle would remove the shed skin and have it preserved as always.

He rose drunkenly and approached a larger vivarium from which he lifted the lid, leaning in and picking up a cricket, the chirping of which filled the room now that it was not kept inside thick glass. He held it with bare hands, careful not to crush or kill it as he approached his favourite specimen. Violet, he called her. A brown recluse spider, large and common yet very pretty. Her markings were clear and crisp; a violin, earning her kind the name 'fiddleback'. Her beauty was one of the many reasons Fiddle was known by such a name. Her bite wasn't fatal on its own, but he had ways of using her kind for those ends anyway, and Fiddle considered himself to be the same. He was resourceful enough to turn what he had into something far more dangerous. In dropped the cricket, which would feed the hardy beast for a good while. She'd need her energy, though. She was not just his favourite for her appearance; her spiderlings were an important part of Fiddle's operations now, and for her help she was cherished as if she were an obedient dog at his heel. Were she tame, he would lean in and pet her. But instead, he satisfied himself by watching her leap upon her prey, spindly legs wrapping around as he devoured her meal in a most vicious and, to him, beautiful way.


	20. Chapter 20

**Sorry for the delay in updating! Real life stuff has bogged me down so I couldn't get much done. Things are better now though, so please do enjoy :)**

* * *

It had been a long, miserable day for Bella Drake, and she had not bottled it up as she worked. The house was cleaned and dinner was in the oven. Bennet had come home from work as early as he could, and insisted she sit down. Normally Bella wouldn't listen, but her muscles felt weak and she was warm all over from her sickness. Bennet hadn't seemed to be catching it which she took to be a blessing considering the recent murders he was investigating. He made her cool drinks and brushed her hair from her forehead and kissed her and for that Bella was once again reminded of how wonderful things had ended up for her. What could have been a life of whoring and worse in Whitechapel had evolved into one featuring love and stability. He was there for her, and she was there for him. Even while her stomach churned and her head pounded, he brought a smile to her face.

They sat and he talked softly of his day, mentioning the surprisingly furious side of Miss Mountford he'd experienced the night before. She had come by this morning to apologise, though, and express concern over the fact that nothing had happened yet. She almost wanted to be attacked, it seemed, if it meant she would not live in fear and anticipation of the attack. Bella did not have much to say of her own day, but she enjoyed laying back and listening to Bennet, his voice a gentle and welcome form of company.

Come later in the evening, he advised that Bella get an early night. She was having fitful sleeps and he seemed to know from experience that an early night helped. She'd toss and turn, but it meant if she did fall asleep from exhaustion that she was already comfortable in bed.

Making her way down the hall, there came a heavy knock at the door. Bennet rose but she was already just a few paces away from it, so waved him down as she unlocked the heavy slab of wood and pulled it towards her.

"Hello?" Mrs. Drake spoke into an empty doorway. "Bennet, there's no one here." She said over her shoulder, and her husband leapt up to see for himself. Part of him feared she might be snatched from the doorway; taken by surprise when she thought there was no one there. Yet, Bennet found the doorway empty too, and stepped past her into the cold night to look around. His foot knocked something hidden in the evening's darkness, and he glanced down to see a small, square brown package with small holes cut into it.

* * *

"Open a window."

"Ain't heard you complain about the smoke before."

"That was before you'd smoke four cigarettes in a row. The smoke is stifling; open a window."

"Fine, fine." Homer Jackson (as he was known here) rose from his seat and moved over to lift up the window pane a little, cool air flowing in and making the hairs on his arms stand up. "Don't complain about the cold, though."

"No, I'll just complain about your chain smoking." Came the reply from his wife, who lounged on their bed with a smirk on her pretty little lips which he returned. She'd bathed and dressed for bed, but stayed awake to read for a little while as she liked to do. Jackson no longer spent his nights in a room with one of the girls, so instead spent it with his wife. Even if they didn't talk, he had to admit there was something enjoyable about being in the same room as her. It was similar to how he'd felt when they'd first married and run away together.

"What're you reading?" he mumbled, sitting again and scratching his bare chest.

"Pride and Prejudice - you wouldn't enjoy the story. I fancy a cup of tea, though."

"You'll talk in your sleep again." He warned her as she slipped from the bed, draping a gown over her shoulders. "Just 'cause it ain't coffee-"

"Doesn't mean it doesn't keep me awake, I know." She smiled at him, cocking her head. "But I just fancy a cup. Will you have anything?"

"Nah, my stomach's only just settled."

"Alright then." She smiled again and her eyes lingered on him as she left the room, leaving Jackson alone to puff on his last cigarette. Susan had, for the most part, softened these last few months and it had rubbed off on him too. Aside from the odd spat over more serious matters, their bickering had turned to amorous banter and they found themselves waking happy with each other more often than not. But lord, she did talk in her sleep after tea at night.

Susan was gone for a few minutes when he heard voices downstairs rise. Jackson wondered at first if a fight was breaking out, but he heard no male voices. It could've been a disagreement among the girls, but Susan would end that fast enough.

The voices grew a little louder, followed by footsteps. Susan appeared with something in her hands, and placed it on the table of their bedroom with a pale face.

"A package for you. Left on the doorstep moments ago." He said, hands on her hips and a displeased look taking over her features. "No sign of who left it, either."

Jackson sat up and rubbed one of his eyes, peering at the square brown box. His expression turned steely and even as he sat frozen, he was thinking about where he'd left his shirt (and more importantly, his gun).


	21. Chapter 21

**Apologies for the delay! School work once again caught up on me. I hope the length and content makes up for it. A quick note if you're having trouble getting the image of Silk into your head, think something similar to Val Kilmer in 'Tombstone' ;)  
**

* * *

The Dog's Head was one of the more tolerable slummy pubs in Whitechapel, found after an extensive walk through narrow alleyways and dirty beggars. It reeked of piss, puke and God-knows what else. Its name had also been clearly and expertly etched into the glass boxes containing live spiders, delivered to the homes of Drake and Jackson an hour before.

Drake would have headed there immediately, but would not leave Bella alone at home even at her best health. So he had walked her first to Tenter Street to ask Long Susan to allow her to wait there, only to find her attempting to calm a raging Jackson who wasted no time in telling Drake the source of his rage. It had become apparent they had both been summoned by this man Silk, and for once their fury allowed them to bond long enough to make it to the aforementioned pub.

A cigarette was needed to calm a tremor that had hit Drake, his muscles tensed and shaking with the desire to beat a man. Jackson felt the same, but hid it better.

When they entered, Jackson was the first to spot a man sat smoking a pipe, a glass box on the table in front of him with several spiders skittering around inside. He was not subtle, but then in a slum like this no criminal needed to be. The two lawmen marched over, and Silk looked up with mild pleasure, as if meeting an associate he hadn't seen in a while.

"Sergeant Drake and Captain Jackson; I am so very glad you chose to come and meet me. I hope your wives were not too spooked by the message but I consider consistency an important thing." He tapped one hand on the glass box, waving his other at the seats opposite. "Take the weight from your feet, gentlemen, and pull the curtain behind you. I believe we have a discussion to delve into."

* * *

Tonight Lavinia would sleep alone in her room again and she was glad of it, able to relax and read and sleep without eyes on her. She had enjoyed Mr. Lusk's company, but now regretted having been so forward in her interactions with him. A game may have been fine but she had, as always, acted inappropriately. She felt as if she went into some childlike stupor every time the mildest bit of excitement hit her, and only later on when she'd calmed down did she realise she'd embarrassed herself. The writing and revealing of secrets was something girls did as children, giggling over it while the adults did more important things. And oh, that first one he had read. What had possessed her to write such a thing? It was a concern she could have taken to her mother, not a man she'd known for a week.

But it was done and he had been kind enough not to react in any horrified way. She still could do no more than politely smile at him the next morning while he assured her mother that things would remain well. He'd offered his men to be around tonight again but the family declined for fear of inconveniencing him and the others. The Vigilance Committee was no longer an active group, and they did what they did out of goodness rather than for pay. The Mountfords would not ask another night of such dedication from men who had to go to work after the sun rose.

She had been keeping herself busy today, and felt the tiredness of moving on your feet more than usual. Her room was warm, too, and Lavinia slipped from her bed with the intention of going downstairs to find something to drink. When she stepped into the hallway, however, she stopped as a great crash followed by shouting permeated the silence of the upper floor. Her younger sister Lilly poked her head out of her own bedroom door, looked at her sister and then down the hallway to their parent's room.

"They're having a fight, aren't they Vinnie?" the young girl said, close to her debut and ever so sheltered. The Mountfords seemed to be hoping for more luck with marrying her off in her youth than they'd had with Lavinia, and she was doted upon by their father.

"I think father is upset at mother, just. A fight implies they're both angry. You know mother would never say anything back to him." Lavinia said, beckoning her sister back into her room. "I'll try to diffuse it before they wake anyone else up. Go back to bed."

Padding down the hall, Lavinia pushed her parents' door open to find her mother stood in a night gown, tears streaming down her face. Her father, still dressed, had his back to the door and turned to face his daughter as she intruded. A washbowl and jug had been knocked to the floor, water soaking through the carpet.

"What's wrong?" Lavinia asked softly, giving her father as gentle and understanding a glance as possible. "I heard something fall…"

"Go back to your room, Lavinia." Her mother said, wiping her cheeks.

"You're crying, though."

"Just go."

Reluctantly, Lavinia closed the door and was left in the darkness of the hallway, standing for a moment before walking back the way she'd come. She wasn't thirsty any more, but her stomach felt icy cold.

* * *

"Tell me, gentlemen, that you are not surprised that I found your lodgings so easily." Joseph Silk leaned back in his chair, taking the pipe from his lips as the two men settled in their chairs with visible restraint. They both stared at him, drinking in what few remarkable features he had. Not a toff and yet not at all rough either, he was well kept with clear and pale skin that looked as smooth as most well-to-do women's. His moustache was well-trimmed and shaped, twinned with a small triangle of hair allowed to grow under his lower lip. There was such a threatening hint of femininity about him, layered on top of a very well-known murderous agenda. None of it was in his look alone, though. If you described his face on paper the two lawmen wouldn't see it as very feminine. His mannerisms; his glare; his smirk; it all had a subtle sultry threat behind it. His eyes, a peculiar shade of green that reminded Drake of the colourful stones women wore around their necks, seemed capable of focusing on the two men at once. Both lawmen felt as if they were being stared directly in the eye at the same time. "I followed you." He answered their unspoken question regarding his knowledge of their homes. "I know where all of you lay your heads; you two, Inspector Reid, the Mountfords, and most of the vigilance men. I know where you drink and eat, I know where you buy your clothes, I know the names of the women you share a bed with."

"What is it you want with us 'ere, other than to show off your breadth of knowledge?" Drake snapped, his lower jaw pushed forward in agitation.

"I call you here to make a point, and to inform you of something very important. I should like to tell you now, so I suggest you pay attention." Silk leaned forward with his elbows on the table, hands clasped together after pushing the class case of spiders aside. He did not seem at all intimidated by the two furious men sat opposite him, who remained still and glaring as he spoke. "The deliveries are not a threat, sirs. They are a reminder of who you play this game with."

"Yourself, you mean." Jackson grumbled, sitting forward. "You want to show off what you can do. Sending spiders to the houses of policemen and killing innocent women and children."

"I profess to the deliveries but not the killings. I am a messenger, Captain Jackson. Nothing but." He sat back, lifting the pint glass he'd nursed before him for a while now. He seemed in no rush, savouring the flavour and wiping his moustache clean afterwards. "As flattered as I am, you have been giving me far too much credit recently."

"And what do you mean by tha-" Drake growled, shifting in his seat, but the other man cut him off.

"I am the man known as Silk. But I am still only, as I said, a messenger. I have told my employer much about yourselves, sirs. I carry much information about you. Like how you, Sergeant, like to wake ten minutes before your wife and watch her sleep for a short while. If she's used any oil on her scalp recently you'll smell it too, won't you? Lavender, she seems fond of." He narrowed his eyes for a split second, daring Drake to prove him wrong on that fact.

Drake rose and lurched across the table, but before he could reach Silk, a barrage of hands seemed to come from nowhere, grabbing limbs and clothing to hold Drake back. Jackson had frozen where he sat, and saw at least six men in booths either side of them reaching through the curtain, eyes trained on both him and Drake as he was held in place. Silk smiled a little, blinking at Drake as if his attack had been only an inconvenience.

"It's the same scented oil that the Mountford women use in their baths. George Lusk has returned home smelling faintly of it several times this week. Your Belle likes to cook you breakfast every morning, too, doesn't she Sergeant? Unlike your wife, Captain Jackson." Silk turned to look at the American while Drake was yanked back into his seat by the other men who seemed to slip away again. "She's up hours before you, cleaning herself and preening. She dines with her girls most mornings while you sleep on your front alone in your bedroom. Did you know she cleans herself out with lemon juice still? God forbid she bears a child by you, hm?"

Were it not for the likelihood that he'd be stopped, Jackson would have lunged forward too. He fists were clenched hard enough to hurt, and for possibly the first time in his life Jackson was showing enough restraint to risk blowing a vessel in his eye.

"What the hell do you want?" was all he could muster, teeth clenched tight.

"...your Inspector, I know about him too. He still sleeps in the station, you know. Your wife still does his shirts, Captain. He hadn't visited that dusty old home of his in some time."

"Goddamnit Silk I asked what you want." A fist slammed to the table, Jackson unable to restrain his temper so subtly.

"I want to do my job, men. I just wondered if it might prove to you the weight of my words if I showed how much I know of you. But what I am really here for is to deliver a message to you, rather than to my employer. I have been instructed to give you a cheat card in this game, so that we may move this situation forward and closer to a resolution. I am the man known as Silk, but I am not the mastermind behind this organisation." Again Silk leaned forward with his hands together. "The man you look for takes his name from an aspect of arachnids far more dangerous than their silk. Think of how they are identified, and if you can come to a conclusion that is correct he will offer a meeting."

"You're not the one pulling the strings." The American surgeon concluded, upper lip twitching.

"Spiders often pull at the strings of another's web. But I am not the one who built the web in the first place. The name of that person, I'm afraid, is one you must determine yourself."

With that, he stood up and replaced his hat, downing the last of his pint and regarding the men with a calm, neutral expression.

"If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have word of a domestic dispute that sparked shortly before my arrival here and I should hate to miss any of the fireworks. Good evening."

* * *

Hot milk had always sent Lavinia to sleep as a child, and she'd drunk enough right now to put an entire army to bed. Yet here she sat, eyes wide open and focused on nothing in particular as she heard muffled voices, crashes and stomps of varying volume above her. She did not know how to feel, as she did not know why they were fighting. Her father's behaviour as of late drove Lavinia to side with her mother, though.

The door to the kitchen opened slowly and in padded Margaret with a ragged and tired looking Timothy in her arms.

"They woke him up and I didn't want him to hear it from just a few rooms away." She explained herself, thinking her younger sister to be down here for the same reason. Lavinia handed her sister the half-filled glass of warm milk for Timothy to drink, although he seemed to doze in his mother's arms contently for now.

"Do you know what they're fighting about?" Lavinia asked, resting her head in her hand.

"I tried not to listen, honestly. It's a ghastly disagreement, whatever it is."

"I saw mother crying, and they're knocking things over in there."

"You don't think he'll…" Margaret's eyes narrowed in hopeful disbelief, but Lavinia's face seemed to darken.

"I'm worried he already has. Mother doesn't cry like that very often. I'm going to go up and listen, see if I can find out what's gone wrong."

"Don't, Vinnie." The older woman reached a hand out and held her sister by the arm as she stood up. "You'll get in trouble if they find you eavesdropping."

"I don't care." Tearing her arm free, Lavinia marched from the kitchen and back upstairs, feet brushing over the floor quietly as she approached the bedroom door of her parents. Before there were words exchanged that she could hear, there was instead the loud collision of skin against skin. A slap, followed by a whimper from her mother.

Something vile and bitter came up in Lavinia's mouth and she swallowed it back down, grimacing as the substance went back down into a stomach hot and churning. She felt the compulsion to scream and bellow, but channeled it into her extremities instead. She pushed the door hard and marched in as before.

"What are you fighting about?" the girl demanded, standing in the doorway and staring straight-faced at her father.

"Get out of-" he began, snarling through curled lips.

"I asked what you are fighting about! What are you arguing over that compels you to hit my mother?"

"She's my wife before your mother, Lavinia. Now get out of here!" he raised his voice to a shout, stepping fast towards her. "Do you want a smack too, girl? I said leave!"

Lavinia stood fast, staring up at her father with dry, bright eyes. She remembered her discussion with Mr. Lusk about fear and how people just worked themselves so much they could sleep through it. She did not want to be like that; she did not want to have fear in the first place. And right now, she didn't. She wouldn't let it seep in this time.

"There are worse things to fear than your hand." She said with a shaking voice, her father's features screwing up in rage as he landed a heavy blow to her own face, grabbing her by the hair as she stumbled back.

"If you have no respect for my authority I'll have no respect for you, Lavinia. Now get out of here and leave the adults to their business. Go play with your dolls, simple girl." He shoved her back and Lavinia steadied herself.

"I won't respect men who don't deserve and earn it. I'm smarter than you give me credit for." And with that, she had turned and disappeared down the hallway, the bedroom door slamming behind her as he father turned to his wife again.


	22. Chapter 22

It had been over two years since Susannah had passed. He'd loved her a great deal and still woke some nights to an empty bed and an aching heart. All of the children she'd bore him gave him strength, and his work (both in building and with the committee) kept him busy enough to move on and out of the grieving stage. He wore colours again, he smiled and he sat at home enjoying time with his children as often as he could. She'd be proud of him, he thought.

It was midnight and George Lusk was anticipating the closure of the pub where the committee was meeting so that they might join patrols of the commercial district. He wanted this night to be over, as tiredness was hitting harder than usual after the long night yesterday at the Mountford's home. To his dismay, this seemed obvious to the others. They did, at least, appreciate his dedication to the cause enough to insist he go home for the night and after twenty minutes of convincing George did eventually give in and don his hat, heading home with the image of bed solely in his mind.

When he arrived at Alderny Road, there was a figure slumped by his door, the gas light above creating a shadow. As he approached, they stood up and the silhouette of skirts betrayed the person's gender.

"Mr. Lusk! I'm sorry to disturb you at this hou, I was hoping you would be due home soon and not already in bed."

"I'm actually home early, Miss. You might've been waiting 'till four in the morning." Lusk said, tipping his hat. As he stepped to his doorway, he finally realised who it was. "Miss Mountford-"

"I hope it wouldn't be too imposing of me to ask to come in?"

"Is something the matter?"

"I would say so."

Never a man to turn someone away when in need, George nodded and led her in through the small hallway into their kitchen, where his eldest Albert was sat with a cup of tea, likely not long home from work himself. Albert was 27 and unmarried, so preferred to stay and help his father with the other children and put his earnings into the household rather than go off and start his own family just yet. He looked upon the female guest and reacted with more shock than his father had expected.

"Son, would you mind?" George asked, leaving his hat on the table and running a gloved hand through his hair. God, he just wanted to go to bed. Albert took his cup and left the room, footsteps following shortly afterwards. Looking around to Miss Mountford to offer her a seat, he saw the source of Albert's shock. One side of the girl's face was red, the fading bruise under her eye flared up again from fresh trauma. Her hair was still up but in a mess, strands pulled from the bun. He noticed a slight swelling at one end of her upper lip too – whatever had happened, it had struck from the eye down on her right side. His first fear was that an attack had occurred at home.

"I shan't keep you for long, sir."

"What has happened, Miss Mountford?"

"My father doesn't appreciate insolence. He and my mother were fighting and I stepped in." she brought a hand up to her face, touching her lip where the swelling had started. "He wears rings"

"He struck you?" Lusk's voice deepened and he was ready to escort the woman back with his beating stick ready. Instinctively as if she were one of his own girls, George lifted a hand to her face to feel the heat of the injured flesh, holding it as if to protect it from any further impending damage. Insolence was a frustrating thing but George was a man raised to believe that hitting a woman was wrong. Hitting a woman defending her mother did, in his mind, even warrant being labelled as insolence. Lavinia dipped her head and moved it away from his hand a little, causing George to retract completely.

"I don't come here regarding help with that, though; my father will calm down eventually. But I did come to give you something while he is distracted and I remain fearless of the repercussions." She smiled at him; a sliver of brightness in an otherwise bleak appearance. She dug into her coat and produced a piece of paper, folded a few times with the corners frayed. George took it and, upon unfolding, realised the paper was a cheque.

"Miss Mountford, I can't-"

"You can and you will. My mother encouraged my father to write this cheque three days ago, but I watched him hide it in his desk. He wanted to keep her quiet, but has no intention of giving it. His concerns now are keeping money to himself and supporting the police. The latter I can get behind, but this money does not deserve to sit in his bank account when it could help you and your men. It is enough to finance the next 50 nights of watch for the men you employ on a basic wage, with some extra to allow for meetings."

"This is...very extravagant, Miss."

"It is well overdue; the least my father can provide. I do not think myself pompous when I suggest that my life is at least worth that much. Please, take it." Her hands came up to his, gently pushing his fingers to close around the paper. It crumpled a little, but he resisted the push of her hands if only to feel the heat of her palms. George caught himself in that, and slowly pulled his hands from hers.

"You are a kind young woman."

"Maybe you can help stop this crime spree, although I do not think the police force would appreciate it." She smiled up at him, those little emerald eyes bright and distracting from the redness from her strike.

"Are you to return home now?"

"I would prefer not to, but I have nowhere else to go. I left too quickly to fetch a coin purse."

"You will stay here, then. The sofa in the living room is quite comfortable."

"No, Mr. Lusk, I couldn't. I can slip into our house quietly."

"Lavinia." He stopped her as she shifted on her feet, "You have been struck, have you not?"

"I have."

"You won't return home while your father is in any state that he would hit you. Stay here tonight, and I will escort you home in the morning."

Lavinia lifted a hand to wipe under her eye, wincing as she touched swollen and sore skin. George exhaled and held a hand out to the table behind him. "I think a cup of tea to calm you down first, though. Sit down, please." He turned to fill up a kettle as a quiet Miss Mountford eased down into a chair. There was no doubt he would have marched to the Mountford home and shaken the wits out of Frank Mountford, but he knew from experience with his daughters that distress was best healed in the girl first before her father was dealt with. He would speak with the man in the morning, no matter how hard he might be to track down.

* * *

Lights were still on, and a quiet pacing circle of the house told Joseph that there were still voices vibrating through the house. David reported that fighting was still occurring, and that the young Miss Mountford had left in tears with a coat wrapped around her.

A knock on the door went unanswered, so Joseph hit again harder until some terrified and tired little woman in a night gown yanked the door open.

"Can I help you?" she squeaked, looking at if she expected to be attacked or robbed.

"I need to speak to the man of the house, Frank Mountford."

"I'm afraid he is sleeping-"

"No, he is not; I can hear his voice. I would see him."

"It is late, sir. Perhaps you'd come back tomorrow?"

"No." Silk stepped past the woman, who feared enough to step back out of his way, looking torn between handling the situation herself and calling her employers.

"Sir! Please-"

In the dark hallway, Joseph looked up the stairs and bellowed, "Frank Mountford. I would speak with you."

"You can't just barge in here!" the little maid yelped, probably more terrified of punishment from her employers. Footsteps thudded upstairs before journeying along the upper hallway. A man, half undressed in his shirt and trousers with mussed hair appeared at the top of the stairs. Frank Mountford.

"Who are you?"

"I would speak with you." Silk repeated again, peeling leather gloves from hands marked with small white lines – scars of great age. Along with his hat, he handed the gloves to the maid, waiting for her to take them with a bewildered look on her face. Finally she allowed them into her hands and the intruder stood still, waiting as Frank made his way down the stairs with nostrils flared. He was fired up from his fight and attack on his wife, like a bull that had been poked and bled just enough for the final battle.

"I am here, then. Who are you?" The man of the house seethed, his wife appearing around a corner up the top of the stairs.

Silk remained straight faced, glancing to the floor to check the position of his feet as he shifted to put the right amount of distance between him and the other man. Then, in one instant, his face screwed up as his right arm was thrown backward. A heavy and planned punch met Mountford's face, cracking bone. The man stumbled back onto the tile floor, and both women shrieked but did not dare intervene. As his long coat came back to settle around his calves, Silk stepped forward and over a toppled and bleeding Frank Mountford. Lifted by the collar of his shirt, Frank was struck in the face with knuckles several more time, blood spilling from his mouth as he was dropped back to the floor. He whined like a child, one hand coming up to shield his face as his eye remained clamped shut.

"That's enough! Get away from him!" Mrs. Mountford took several steps down the stairs, holding a hand out. Her eyes were red, and her lip split and scabbing over.

"Did you say that to him too?" Joseph asked, eyes half lidded and face returning to a calm, neutral position. "Did you beg him to get away from you as he reigned blows upon you? I shall be the better man and obey such a request, Mrs. Mountford. I hope your husband appreciates the bitter taste of his own medicine." As he rubbed sore knuckled, Silk lifted a foot and stamped hard onto Frank Mountford's abdomen, hearing the man scream out as muscle and bone was injured. His wife was crying, and Silk regarded her with eyes of a similar deep green, blinking a few times before turning to the maid. From shaking and shocked hands he collected his gloves and hat, stepping from the front door without another word. The sound of women crying did not please Joseph Silk, but it was a necessary pain to endure when considering the retribution exacted upon a man.


	23. Chapter 23

Dim candlelight flickered in the centre of a dark yet warm room, glass cases full of twitching and aggravated arachnids that clattered at the glass walls and burrowed into their substrate. At the centre of the room sat the man known as Fiddleback, in his hands a spider of black and orange stripes. She was one of his favourites for her cost and colour; a beauty brought all the way to him from Mexico in the form of her mother and father, who were culled after enough of their eggs were bred for his uses. This little beauty was kept for himself, though. Fiddle had a heart, after all. He did not kill them for fun, and enjoyed the company of the little one as she crawled over his gloved hand.

Fiddle released a held breath, lips pressed together as he swam deep in thought, watching each of the segments of his little red-knee's legs move to accommodate her intentions. She was moving slowly tonight, the low light and a feeding yesterday had calmed her very well, it seemed. She had recently been used to blind a man, and so her abdomen was quite bare of kick hairs. After this interaction, Fiddle would let her rest and recuperate for a while. She deserved as much after performing so well.

A door slammed outside, and the little red-knee jumped. With another sigh, Fiddle stood up and glided over to her vivarium with practiced care, his other hand positioned lower down should she drop from his clutches. Placed back in the safety and comfort of her cage, Fiddle remained with his back to the room's door as it opened.

"You are a tad later than I expected. I thought you gave the American and the Sergeant a specific time. Did you run into trouble?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle." Silk muttered, standing in the doorway with his hands at his side. "What do you need doing next?"

"What trouble did you run into, Silk?" the other man looked over his shoulder in frustration. He did not like his questions half answered.

"There was a disturbance at the Mountford home. David alerted me to it."

"That isn't his job."

"No, but he was right to tell me. It was resolved with ease, everything is as it once was."

The tone in Silk's voice told Fiddle that he was being lied to. Silk was good at lying, but Fiddle was better, and he could catch those subtle hints that displayed a story's weakness. They were especially noticeable in someone who had been an acquaintance as long as Silk had.

Turning and walking towards the taller man, Fiddle lifted one of Silk's hands and peeled off a leather glove to reveal red and swollen knuckles. A _tisk_ escaped fiddle lips as he did the same to the other hand, holding them both up to inspect them.

"Were you discovered?"

"No. I instigated the Mountford man."

"You _instigated_ him?"

"He was beating his wife."

The words seemed to fall like a stone in water, the air around the two men thickening in an instant. Fiddle pouted in thought, lifting the injured hand to eye level so that he may inspect the injury in the room's low light.

"Your morals will be your downfall, Joseph." He murmured, bringing one of the knuckles to his lips. He felt fingers twitch in reaction to the kiss, the knuckles proving to still be functional. He took in a deep breath; the reek of blood, sweat and flesh strong on the injured digits. As Fiddle released the man's hand and gave him back his gloves, he turned on one heel to return to his seat. "Go prepare the letter for our Inspector in case he is studious enough to solve your puzzle tonight. Have one of the boys deliver it, then return home to soak your hands and sleep. I will not need your services at the house tomorrow, so you may spend the day as you please."

"Good night, Sir." Silk nodded, knowing his employer to be one who hated to hear 'thank you' from him. He would not spend the day resting, though. There were no 'days off' for a man with the intentions that Silk had.


End file.
